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THIS NU^4BER CONTAINS 


More Than Kin. 

By MARION HARLAND, 

>MJ"riTOR OR “HIS GRRA.T SRIvR,’ RTC. 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 
iippiiciirs. CONTENTS No. 


MORH THAN KIN . . . 

• 

• 

3 ! a Hon Harland 

549-632 

The Sporting Editor. (Journalist Series) . 

. 


J. B. McCormick (** Maco 71" 

) 633 

The Homeless Thoughts. (Poem) 

. 


Dora Read Goodale 

641 

To Isabel. (Poem) 




641 

In a Gondola. (Illustrated) .... 
Cricket in the United States. (Athletic 

Series.) 

Elle 7 i Ohiey Kh'k 

642 

(Illustrated) 



Geo 7 ge Stua 7 ‘t Patterso 7 i 

649 

CoRYDON at the Tryst. (Poem) . 

. 


Fra 7 ices Nathan . 

660 

A Story without a Moral .... 

. 


M. Helen F 7 ‘aser Lovett 

661 

Mirage. (Poem) 



Fdith M. Tho 77 ias . ' . 

663 

Form in Driving. (Illustrated) 

. 


C. Davis F 7 iglish . 

664 

Men of the Day 




675 

As IT Seems .* 

With the Wits. [^Illust 7 \iied by leading artists,') 




677 


s-.' 


PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS 

PUBLISHED BY . ^ 

J:B:LIPPINCOTT:C2: PHILADELPHIA: 

LONDON; WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN & CO. 

Vv, PARIS: BRENTANO’S, 17 AVENUE DE L’OPERA. 

Copyright, 189a. by J. B. Lippincott Company. Entered 





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Iowa, June 20, 1892. 


MORE THAN KIN 


BY 

MARION HARLAND, 

' AUTHOR OF “ALONE,’’ “ HIS GREAT SELF,” ETC. 




J 



v"'’ ooPYWsi^y^ ' 

OCT 22 1892 


/ 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


/ 


Copyright, 1892, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 

]\/JONTHLY Ji^AGAZINE. 


NOVEMBER, 18 9 2. 



MORE 


CHAPTER I. 


I T was not altogether what followed it that stamped that afternoon 
and the drive to the railway-station upon my memory in colors 
that will never fade. 

The forenoon had been showery, — ^soft, heavy rains that soaked 
herbage and weakened the stems of foliage. A steady wind came 
down the northern gorge at mid-day, blowing straight and steadily, but 
not hard, for some hours. At half-past four, when I drove out of the 
gate, the air was still, almost balmy. The long stretch of the village 
street lay before me down to the turn that would take me to the 
station. The houses lining this, our best thoroughfare, stood back 
modestly from the wayside, and between them and a possibly prying 
public a double row of maples made a deep-green shade in summer. 
Now that the autumnal glow was at the height, they gave to the inter- 
space the dim richness of a cathedral aisle. The highway ran due 
east and west ; the wind, as I have said, had blown out of the north. 
Right across the track, the intervals of wet black road showing be- 
tween, the burning leaves had drifted in straight swaths. The half- 
mile drive was barred with tinted flame. The wet leaves had fallen 
prone and lain still where they had dropped. In the level sun-rays 
they glowed and throbbed into a passion of color. 

My ponies shied sharply at the first of these apparent barriers. 
I had coaxed them to step gingerly, with much pointing of ears and 
graceful sidling, upon the gorgeous rug, when a carriage, coming from 
the opposite direction, was drawn up to mine, and a lovely face, framed 
in silver hair, looked out of the window. 

I was on my way to see you, Sydney dear. Don came out early 
to-day, but he had to see a man at the station, and sent me on as his 
avant-coureu7\ He will walk over by and by. You will not be gone 
long, I hope?^^ 


561 


552 


MORE THAN KIN. 


Warm color that was not embarrassment flowed over my face. I 
felt my eyes brighten. 

1 am only going to the station to meet Doctor and Elsie, who 
went to the city this morning. There will be a vacant seat for Don 
on the way back.” 

Ah !” with a smile of friendly satisfaction. Then I will sit 
with your mother while you are away. Have you noticed that the 
road is barred with the latest thing in October tartans ? From the 
lower end it looks like a series of Turner’s sunsets. Don’t let me 
detain you. Good-by.” 

I tautened the reins until my ponies arched their necks and stepped 
high. The turnout was my especial property, — a pretty surrey, with 
polished panels and dark-brown cushions, and a good deal of silver- 
plating about the harness. The ponies were a singularly perfect 
match, — iron-gray, with white manes and tails, and so many signs of 
blood that everybody looked at them as I drove along. There would 
not be a better-appointed equipage at the station, a better-dressed 
woman, or a more clever whip.” My blue cloth gown was tailor- 
made ; my gauntlets fitted smoothly ; my jaunty toque was fashionable 
and becoming. 

There are times when a woman reckons her personal advantages 
at full value, and when she is right in doing it. The weakness and 
folly that compose vanity enter in when she begins to depend and 
presume upon extrinsic circumstances that may slough away from her 
very self and leave it intact, if she has but arrayed herself in them, 
not pressed them into the substance of her soul. 

Don Upton had sent me yesterday two big apples that had grown, 
cheek by cheek, to fulness of ripening. One side of each was red as 
blood, — fresh, young, healthy blood, “ which is the life.” The reverse 
on one bore the initials S. S.” in crimson upon a pale-green field. 
Upon the other apple, D. U.” was similarly dyed and set. Before 
they had begun to blush, he had ingeniously bound up a section of 
each in oiled silk, with the letters cut out in the covering. The sun 
had done the rest. In a discursive, superficial way, as I drove along, 
I fell to philosophizing, and likened the initials upon the cuticle of the 
fruit — this last remaining unaltered in grain, for all its brilliant 
lettering — to the gratification I had in looking my best to-day. The 
glow was but skin-deep. The thought that I was to see Don in five 
minutes, that I belonged to him and he to me, soaked like sunshine 
and dew to the heart of me ; coursed through every thought and 
sensation as sun-warmed sap had filled and rounded and sweetened 
the beautiful globes I had laid away in cotton-wool in a cabinet to 
mellow. 

My mother had a story of my infancy that recurred to my mind 
and made me smile, as I sat upright in driving-school form upon my 
box-cushion, chin level, and hands firm yet light upon the lines. 
The ponies had delicate mouths and sensibilities. Who hoped to con- 
trol them must consider these, consult and respect them. 

My old negro mammy,” who had nursed my mother in her 
infancy, had said one day of my mad dance and shout, when there was 


MORE THAN KIN. 


653 


no apparent cause for exuberance of glee, Let her ’lone, Mis’ Char- 
lotte ! She jis’ so glad o’ she-self, she donno what ter do.” 

I was never so glad of myself before as on this October afternoon, 
as my dear little nags went spinning down the cross-barred street, 
shivering and scattering the sunset series around the corner ; past the 
quiet church and the graveyard, yellowed by fallen elm-leaves ; with 
a lively click-clack” of hoofs and hollow thunder of wheels, across 
the bridge spanning Mapleton Creek, then up a gentle ascent, and, 
with a flash of silver plates and jingle of chains and buckles, brought 
up as still as a pair of granite steeds at the station platform. I was 
youthful and happy, and the young love to dash,” as colts to curvet. 

A dozen other vehicles were waiting for the train, for the New 
Jersey village was almost in sight of New York. The foam of the 
billowing life of the metropolis dashed gayly over us all summer, and 
ran up, more feebly, but perceptibly, in the dead of winter. We vil- 
lagers knew one another, and each new arrival at the railway rendez- 
vous awoke a little stir of nods and smiles, and, from the carriages 
nearest to the latest comers, friendly or merry words. Without mean- 
ing to do it, I had halted close to a somewhat shabby buggy drawn 
by a meek sorrel mare. Why a sorrel horse can look more abjectly 
resigned than any other, and a sorrel mare carry abject resignation to 
meaner lengths than her brother of the same objectionable hue, is one 
of the countless and unaccountable things too common to be classed 
with phenomena. 

The gown of the woman who sat in the shabby buggy would have 
been described as sorrel, had her mare worn it. It was a mixed silk 
and woollen stuff, and fitted her so badly as to be, strictly speaking, no 
fit. Her black gloves were stretched by fidgety fingers into two sizes 
too large for her, and were whitish at the finger-tips. That on the 
right hand was ripped on the ball of the thumb, and while talking 
she pulled at the two sides of the rip, folding them over one another, 
and throwing the rest of the thumb out of perspective. Her black 
straw bonnet was small for her head ; her abundant hair was dark 
and ill dressed ; her bright eyes were darker ; her nose was long, with 
thin, arched nostrils ; the mouth was small and sour. 

Mrs. Tommy Robb was the literary star of Mapleton. Of the 
first magnitude in her own estimation, she ranged from the third to 
the sixth in her neighbors’ eyes, and, as we gathered from metropolitan 
talk, was of no magnitude at all in New York. Perception of the 
latter fact — however she might feign to ignore it — helped to embitter 
her. Ambition that outruns ability begets hunger that frets soul and 
heart, as acid bites into steel. Mrs. Robb proclaimed herself an 
agnostic, and, like a majority of the professors of unfaith, confounded 
the word with atheist. She was as vain of knowing and believing 
nothing of her soul and its destiny as of the pessimism the unlearned 
mistook for ill humor and a natural taste for detraction. Her life had 
been a continual disappointment. A dashing, vivacious girl, she had 
come to Mapleton one summer with the wealthy woman whose adopted 
daughter she was, and captivated Tommy Robb, the eldest scion of a 
good old family. 


554 


MORE THAN KIN. 


Eveiybody liked Tommy, and nobody recollected that his name was 
Thomas. His handsome face and good heart made him a favorite 
partner with the girls, and his sound principles commended him to the 
confidence of the mothers. One and all of his old friends were in 
doubt whether to be more sorry or surprised at his marriage with the 
keen-tongued city-girl. In reviewing the transaction fifteen years later, 
she must have been most surprised of all. For Tommy, albeit not 
quite the fool she now esteemed him, was commonplace to a degree that 
was amazing in a man who went by rail to New York every day, and 
he had succeeded but moderately well in a business that had promised 
large things when Caroline Van Nostrand exchanged her dissyllable 
for his monosyllable. 

As is often the case with a man wedded to a woman mentally supe- 
rior to him, what intellect Tommy had to begin with had dwindled 
pathetically. Men of the best intentions cannot stand on tiptoe for- 
ever, and soon or late discover that it is not in them to take on thought 
sufficient to add one cubit to their mental stature. The spirit is will- 
ing, but mind-muscles are weak. The ill-mated pair had four sous 
as handsome and as commonplace as their father, and, because of this, 
each boy was a separate and special provocation to the clever mother. 

For clever she was — in a way. As a detective she would have been 
famous. This career being closed to one in her walk of life, she be- 
came a newspaper correspondent. Her field of labor was circum- 
scribed by the tether of Tommy and the boys, intertwisted with the 
social prejudice that condemns a matron and mother to look after her 
own house before sallying out to pry into the manner in which other 
people^s homes are ordered, but she worked her one acre hard. My step- 
father had read aloud at the breakfast-table that morning a letter in a 
city paper over the signature C. A. purporting to be a record of 
the impressions our hill-girt village had made upon a New England 
tourist. Hardly a family of any note whatsoever had escaped a lash, 
and, although no names were given, we recognized ourselves and our 
neighbors. In recollection of the article, I should not have selected 
hers as the vicinity in which to spend the few minutes of waiting that 
must precede the appearance of the train. Without suspecting that the 
vacant space conveniently close to the platform was other than acci- 
dental, I had guided the ponies into it. 

Mrs. Robb smiled a meaning response to my bow, as I perceived 

her. 

You are a courageous girl said her clear, high soprano. I 
have been amusing myself for five minutes by seeing what a wide area 
the fluttering of wounded pigeons has left about me. And you wouldn^t 
have come so close had you looked before you leaped. Don^t trouble 
yourself to refute the charge. I shouldn’t believe any polite falsehood 
you felt yourself called upon to utter. Or — maybe you did not see 
my article in to-day’s Clarion 

She had none of the disinclination to discuss her writings in and 
out of season that characterizes great authors. I rarely met her with- 
out hearing of some article” in prose or verse with which she had 
honored humanity. 


MORE THAN KIN. 


555 


I replied with polite promptness : 

Oh, yes ! You were the Autocrat of our breakfast-table this 
morning. Doctor read the letter aloud. 

She looked gratified, but against her will. The draught that had 
not a drop of gall or quassia would have been insipid to her palate. 

What did your mother say of it? I don’t inquire into the opin- 
ions of your step-father, for he never has an original one upon matters 
that do not immediately concern him, and I shouldn’t value it if he 
had. But your mother has brains, and generally puts them to good use, 
if she did mislay them about ten years ago ! You needn’t redden so 
furiously. I’d say the same to her if she were here. There are few 
women whom I trouble myself to respect, or with whose views upon 
any subject I concern myself. As a sex they are characterless, like 
sheep, or sly, like cats. She didn’t relish the cut I dealt pets of the 
petticoats who had got above compounding their own prescriptions, but 
not above trading upon the monetary and mental capital of other 
people ?” 

It was never worth while to get angry at her arrant impertinence. 
She would have been enraged had she divined how much of toleration 
and civility she owed to her husband and the family connection she 
despised as provincial and humdrum. The rdle of protector was one 
in which her fancy had never painted her legal lord. 

I was not afraid of Mrs. Robb, as many people were, and the 
thought struck me that a deserved, if not a salutary, reprisal might be 
to emulate her frankness. 

She did not seem crushed, or even agitated,” I said. On the 
contrary, she laughed, and said, ^ Oh, dear ! that car is off the track 
again !’ ” 

I, too, laughed in requiting rudeness in kind, a novel experiment 
on my part. She granted me a sidelong glance, lowering her lids in a 
sinister way. 

So-o ! Another hurt pigeon ! I had not credited you with so 
much affection for your step-parent.” 

Leaning back in the shabby buggy, she went on folding the edges 
of the rip in her thumb over upon one another, the short upper lip, 
that was always conscious of an evil odor, more expressive than usual. 

The encounter was sufficiently disagreeable, but I had not compre- 
hended the sacrifice of true gentlehood I had made by my retort until 
I saw Don Upton making his way toward me between the waiting 
carriages. 

We had loved one another froqa childhood, and been openly be- 
trothed for a year, and never until that instant had I had the disposi- 
tion to escape the scrutiny of his honest eyes. I tried to persuade my- 
self that aversion to Mrs. Robb’s proximity and espial prompted 
the desire to slip away and cool my uneasy blushes before he could note 
them. At the bottom of my heart I knew that I lied to my conscience. 
The longing, which was aspiration, to be always at my cleanest best in 
Don’s presence was another feeling, that went down to the core of my 
being. Had he been within hearing, nothing could have provoked me 
to deal blow for blow, in what I called, to my shamed self, fishwife- 


556 


MORE THAN KIN. 


fashion.” I had seen him eye Mrs. Robb sometimes in grave compas- 
sion when she struck out viciously at friend or foe ; gravity tinctured 
with wonder at the coarse discourtesy of it all; pity for the suffering 
that, he insisted, must have driven a woman of birth and breeding to 
take up such weapons. He had told me that these exhibitions gave 
color to the stories of her mean parentage current among the wounded 
pigeons.” What would he say to my confession of the descent to her 
level ? 

He had reached me, flushed with dodging under horses’ noses and 
darting through narrow lanes lined with wheels, and given me the 
happy smile nobody else, unless it were his mother, had power to call 
up, and I had time to feel how wretched was my effort to appear com- 
posed, when Mrs. Robb accosted him across me : 

Good afternoon, Donald ! — Mr. Upton, I would say ! You 
boys grow so fast, and so do your beards, that I am constantly in peril 
of breeding contempt by familiarity, — running off the rails of conven- 
tionality, as this witty young lady and her wittier mother would put it. 
She has just been telling me of the latest family bon mot. But what I 
was about to ask you is if there is the proverbial grain of truth in the 
chaff of the story that your mother went to the city the other day to 
have a consultation of physicians ?” 

Don looked startled, glancing quickly from the catechist to me ; 
then, apparently reassured by my composure, replied, tranquilly, — 

The grain of wheat is not there, I think, Mrs. Robb. My mother 
is in her usual excellent health. Were anything so far wrong as your 
story implies, I should be the first to know it.” 

Or so filial vanity thinks. It is the trick of modern mothers to 
practise pious deceptions upon their offspring up to the last gasp. It 
is pathetic, heroic, and Christian. Thank Fortune ! — if I were a 
Christian, I should say ‘ Thank God !” and thereby break the second — 
or is it the third commandment, Miss Salisbury ? — thank Fortune, I 
am neither heroine nor religious, much less a model mother. It 
seemed unlikely to me, however, that Mrs. Upton would seek any 
other professional aid than such as Dr. Wentworth, seconded — or 
firsted — by Mrs. Dr. Wentworth, can offer. Her faith in them ap- 
proximates sublimity. Being as little of a model {)atient as I am of a 
model parent, I can only wonder — and adore — such perfect trust. My 
dear Sydney, your face is too expressive. Believe me that I would 
back away out of hearing, if I could without killing somebody’s 
horses. Were the danger to human beings, I would not hesitate to 
gratify you. Indeed, I should hail the opportunity of ridding the 
world of a fool or two. But be patient ! I hear the train- whistle at 
the station below.” 

In her line the woman was a genius. The combined wits of 
Mapleton could not have fused into a speech of equal length the same 
number of disagreeable things. I never talked with her that she did 
not leave a brier in a vulnerable part. She had stuck me as full of 
them, now, as if I had fallen headlong into a bed of prickly pears and 
rolled over and over in attempting to rise. Every sensitive bit of me, 
— my love for and pride in my mother ; my distrust of my step- 


MORE THAN KIN. 


557 


father, and jealous dread of his influence over the wife who was so 
much nobler than he; my concealed impatience with Mrs. Upton^s 
confidence in his professional skill ; my horror of public sentimental 
passages between my lover and myself, or the appearance of such ; my 
devout attachment to my Church and the holy faith of which I be- 
lieved Her to be the exponent, — the pessimist had at them all. Every 
shot went home, and every arrow rankled. 

Don’s tact was perfect and his courtesy invariable. He gave no 
sign of perceiving my tormentor’s animus, or her success. At the 
sound of the whistle he ran his eye along the reins, straightened one 
with a touch, and let his hand rest caressingly upon the shining coat 
of the pony nearest him in passing to their heads. They were train- 
proof, but he took no risks where my safety was involved. 

If he had not stood just there, foot and eye alert, and with the 
cleared area next the rails directly before him ! How many, many 
times I have shuddered over the words and what was contained in the 
pregnant if! 

The train was an express, and a minute behind time ; therefore it 
made brief pause at our station. I looked in vain for my little sister 
and our step-father among those who hastily emerged from the open 
doors. Whistle and bell were peremptory, and simultaneously with 
these signals the wheels began to revolve. The whole train was in 
motion, when Dr. Wentworth appeared upon the front platform of the 
next to the last car, hurrying Elsie before him. Just beyond the 
crossing was an embankment recently heaped with sand and earth, 
and at that point the tardy passenger grasped the slight figure by 
the arras and leaned forward to lower her to the ground. Every 
looker-on saw that he had miscalculated the speed of the train, and, 
in one gasp of horror, that to drop the child straight down would 
be to yield her to the awful suction that would draw her under the 
wheels. 

Throw her outward!” roared several voices, and Don Upton, 
covering in one great bound the fifteen feet or more separating him 
from the embankment, grasped Elsie about the knees and slid with her 
to the level street below. The pause of a quarter-second would hiave 
foiled his purpose, and a lusty cheer from the spectators of the daring 
deed attested the general appreciation of his presence of mind and 
marvellous agility. As he leaped, a brakeman, seeing the little girl’s 
peril, pulled the signal-rope. The train slowed up to a momentary 
stop a few yards farther on, and Dr. Wentworth stepped from it to the 
track with bland dignity, stood aside until the last car had rumbled 
by, and walked calmly toward us. 

Don led Elsie up to one side of my surrey as our step-parent lifted 
his hat to me from the other. He had come dangerously near making 
himself ridiculous to his fellow-townspeople, and still nearer killing or 
maiming his wife’s youngest child, but he was neither abashed nor 
agitated. 

You were very kind to help my little girl down, Don,” he said, 
genial and suave. I regret that your gallantry cost both of you a 
needless tumble. She would have landed safely upon her own feet. I 


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liad reckoned upon the motion of the car and the distance she had to 
fall/^ 

‘‘ Jack fell down and cracked his crown, 

JilPs sister came tumbling after,’’ 

chanted Mrs. Robb, nodding nonchalantly to her Tommy as he took a 
seat at her side. ‘‘ It was a piece of unlucky ofBciousness on Jack’s 
part, doctor, for the child would certainly have been shortened at the 
knees but for him, and people seldom survive such accidents. You 
would have been a richer man for your picturesque experiment.” 

Even she had the grace to lower her voice that Elsie might not 
hear the cold-blooded insinuation, the width of the carriage being 
between the latter and Dr. Wentworth. She was not so close to his 
ear as to shut it out from mine. My step-father ignored the remark 
loftily, — a more sensible course than the lightning-flash I sent over his 
head to her. Poor Tommy caught it. I could not determine whether 
his consort lost or noticed it. 

Carry, dear !” he murmured, distressfully. 

‘‘ I only say what everybody that saw it is thinking,” she rejoined, 
gathering up the reins. When a man is guilty of an asinine thing, 
it is well to call it by the right name.” 

‘‘The craziest woman in the United States of North America!” 
uttered my step-father, stepping into the carriage after Elsie was 
bestowed upon the back seat. “It is astonishing that she is allowed to 
go at large — even by a Tommy Robb.” 

Elsie’s light laugh was the only answer. My cheeks throbbed to 
tingling with mortification ; my heart beat tumultuously in reflecting 
upon the danger my sister had escaped. I held my tongue between 
my teeth to keep it from saying what I would be made to repent sorely 
were it spoken. Dr. Wentworth liked to drive my ponies, and espe- 
cially disliked to have a woman play coachman when he was a passen- 
ger. I had not stirred from the driver’s place at his interrogative 
pause before he swung himself up to Elsie’s side. So soon as he was 
settled, I moved to the left of the front seat, and motioned to Don that 
the right was vacated in his favor. His eyes beamed gratefully up at 
me, but he took the place without a word. 

Elsie patted my shoulder, laying her sweet face against it for a 
second. 

“We came near being carried on to the Junction,” she twittered. 
“ A lady was talking so fast to papa that he didn’t hear ‘ Mapleton’ 
called out. I was across the aisle, and touched his arm just in time. 
What were you afraid of, Don ? It wouldn’t have hurt me to be 
dropped gently into the sand. What a funny coast we had down 
together — you and 1 1” 

Her silvery laugh rang out anew. A happier child never existed. 
Don’s hand touched mine warningly. 

“ Better be frightened than hurt, Elsie!” he said, gravely. “ I am 
rather timid about leaving and boarding moving trains. I saw a 
brakeman killed once by stepping from a car in the Jersey City station. 
He struck his head against a post, and never moved again.” 


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How dreadful said the tender voice, pityingly, and nobody 
spoke while we whirled down the street. The sunset bars had been 
broken by other hoofs and wheels, and the remnants were dim in the 
declining light. I had meant to point them out to Don, and repeat 
his mother’s graceful simile, but the inclination had fled with the 
gorgeous effects of autumnal leaves and afternoon sunshine. The hills 
that were a clear purple as I drove toward them were dulling into a 
muddy brown, and opaque mists arose from behind them, washing the 
yellow out of the sky. Don looked up at the heavens, and shook his 
head. 

It is not like October to give us so many storms. She is usually 
the most benignant of months. It may be because my mother was 
born in October that I fancy a likeness between the two. One always 
reminds me of the other.” 

There is a likeness, and a strong one.” I caught at the fancy. 

Strength, sweetness, — a rich, bland, yet bracing quality of thought 

and feeling, — a large motherliness Why,” — looking at him 

admiringly, — ‘Hhe comparison is worthy of her, Don ! It is poetry !” 

I am glad to be worthy of her in some way. If I am poetical 
— for once — she is my inspiration.” 

Inspiration, fair and sweet, as embodied in the shape that moved 
up the wide hall to meet us upon our return to my home. Hers had 
always been a comely presence, but in growing older she had grown 
beautiful. She was still some years under fifty, and the rapid whiten- 
ing of her hair enhanced the delicacy of her complexion while, as is 
often the case, it refined her features. My choice bit of Dresden,” 
Don liked to call her. Her head was little higher than his elbow, her 
slight figure was graceful, her small hands and feet were exquisite in 
shape. Upon each cheek was a flush of pink, and her eyes were soft 
and lustrous in resting upon Don and myself. 

I am to steal you for to-night, Sydney dear,” she said, blithely. 

Don goes early in the morning. (You know. Dr. Wentworth, that 
my boy sets out to-morrow noon for California, to be absent some 
weeks ?) Your mother, Sydney, seeing the reasonableness of the theft, 
sanctions it. As it is growing late and damp, will you get ready as 
quickly as possible ?” 

I recalled, afterward, that my mother left her guests in the hall 
with Dr. Wentworth, and followed me up to my room to assist in 
packing my sac de nuit. Elsie came, too, and in her eager chatter of 
what she had seen and done in town we had no opportunity to ex- 
change other than commonplace remarks. I had whispered to the 
child in alighting from the carriage not to mention the little adventure 
at the station. There was then no reason that I knew of for the pen- 
siveness of the smile with which my mother stayed me at my chamber 
door to kiss me, or the unusual fervor of her embrace, unless it were 
that she sympathized with me in Don’s approaching departure and our 
separation. At the impulse of this supposition, I spoke : 

^^I mean to be very brave and busy for the next three weeks, 
mamma darling. And Don will be ever so much richer for this trip. 
I am glad he should have it.” 


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So am I, love. And I know that you will be brave. You never 
fail me.’’ 

The last sentence did not seem singular. She was always generous 
with praise of her first-born and least deserving child. 


CHAPTER II. 

The Uptons lived nearly a mile away from us, a rod or so back 
from the long, straight street bisecting the village. The house was the 
oldest in the neighborhood. A colonial Upton had built and lived in 
it. That room of the lower floor which the present mistress and her 
son liked best was the long library, the ceiling of which was crossed 
by bold oaken rafters. The windows on one side had been cut down 
to the floor, and the end farthest from the door was half filled by a 
great open fireplace. Above the breast-high book-shelves were ranged 
family portraits, — generations of departed Uptons. Right over the 
mantel hung the likeness of Don’s father, who had died while his boy 
was a baby. This woman, whose white hair made her young face look 
the younger, had lived out under this roof twenty-seven years of 
widowhood. In all this time her son had been her chosen and almost 
constant companion. Columbia College was his Alma Mater, and he 
had studied his profession in the law-school of that university. His 
mother’s choice of the college was guided, according to Mrs. Robb, 
entirely by the circumstance that he could attend it and yet spend 
nights and Sundays at home. When he went abroad for a year after 
graduation, his mother accompanied him. That he grew up healthy 
in mind and body, that his manhood was sturdy and his temper sweet, 
and his whole nature as unspoiled as if he had been obliged to surren- 
der his will a dozen times an hour to a dozen brothers and sisters, was 
equally creditable to his mother’s management and the quality of the 
material upon which she wrought. 

Something of this I said after dinner that evening, when we three 
sat about the blazing birch and cedar logs. One of Mrs. Upton’s 
pretty fancies was to have the library fire fed with these. They were 
sawed into equal lengths, and Don used to make a point of piling them 
in alternate layers, so that the rich red of one wood set ofi* the mel- 
lowed white of the other, to gratify Madame Mare’s aesthetic taste,” 
he would insist. 

To-night he was especially punctilious in the arrangement of the 
sticks, standing off from the chimney to survey the effect through his 
hollowed hand, his head on one side, his expression so complacently 
intent that we both of us laughed, and his mother threatened to box 
his ears. ‘‘ If you live to be a hundred years old, you will never out- 
grow your boyishness,” she complained, lovingly ; and as he cast himself 
down in his favorite attitude, half sitting, half lying, upon the fur rug 
at her feet, his head upon her lap, she pulled his short curls. But a 
pretty nice boy, for all his nonsense ; don’t you think so, Sydney?” 

A phenomenal boy, when one considers his disadvantages,” rejoined 
I. The miracle is that he escaped spoiling.” 


MORE THAN KIN, 


561 


He is a comfort and blessing that have taken the loneliness out of 
his mother^s life/^ she said, her fingers wandering in his hair. ‘‘ I 
thank my God upon every remembrance of you, my son.^^ 

He passed her hand over his eyes in drawing it down to his mouth, 
and I saw the spray of scattered dew. The murmur made inarticulate by 
the kiss pressed upon the little hand was eloquent in tenderness of tone. 

We were entirely happy, just we three, in the bewitching half-light, 
warm and palpitating with color, that lent a blush to the shadows 
grouped in far corners. The sigh of the night-wind lulled fancy to 
sweeter dreaming. 

I have never knowm another parent whose presence, sympathetic 
and fondly beloved though she might be, was not a restraint upon the 
talk of affianced lovers. 

I don^t believe you would have said ^Yes’ to me, Sydney, if I 
had had any other woman for a mother,^^ Don declared, meditatively 
looking into the fire. In fact, you may not have forgotten that I 
offered her first, and, later on, myself as an unimportant adjunct, as 
I might have thrown in a saddle-horse, or the ^ ’ouse in Tottenham 
Road,^ db la Guppy. I had little doubt as to the result of a suit thus 
engineered. Who could resist Madame M^re 

He had fixed the name upon her in his boyhood, and used it habit- 
ually in playfully affectionate moods. It suited her, in spite of her 
moderate stature. She wore, this evening, a gown of creamy white 
China cr^pe, and in the bodice a Gloire de Dijon rose. Don had put it 
there when she came down to dinner. After pinning it carefully in 
place, he stooped for the kiss always chimed when he gave her flowers, 
and when she fastened in his button-hole the bud or blossom he wore 
into the city every morning. Such offerings and caresses were part of 
their daily living. 

Nobody V’ I affirmed, unblushingly. You may recollect that I 
expressed myself distinctly to that effect upon the occasion of which 
you speak, and I ^ am of the same opinion still.^ Your individual at- 
tractions are not contemptible, but much of your light is reflected 
radiance. Your credit in Cupid^s court is fair, but the endorser’s name 
makes your paper legal tender.” 

He liked to have me saucy. 

Bravo !” he cried, beating his hands softly together. 

His mother laid one of hers on mine with a gentle pat that carried 
with it love, not rebuke. When she spoke, her thoughts seemed to 
have strayed wide of the subject under jesting discussion. Her dream- 
ful regards were lifted to the portrait over the mantel. 

It is my wish that when my mission on earth is ended, you two 
will live on here as long as you can make it convenient and pleasant. 
I came to this old house a bride. My husband’s mother met me in 
the porch, and from that hour became mine. We lived happily to- 
gether for ten years. For her dear sake, my children, — in memory of 
what she was to me, an orphan girl and a stranger to her, — never join 
in the popular ridicule of the much-traduced class of mothers-in-law.” 

We need not go back a generation for that which should keep our 
lips from such talk forever,” interposed I. 


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‘ Tim Linkinwater !’ ” in deep, wrathful tones from Don, ^ how 
dare you talk of dying?’ I call such allusions incongruous, irrational, 

‘ tolerable, and not to be endured.’ And on my last evening at home 
for so long !” His tone changed. When this darling girl and I live 
here together, mother dear, — as please God we will, before long, — your 
presence will hallow our happy home. The suggestion of anything 
else sends a chill to my heart.’^ 

It is the coui'se of nature, my son.” 

Then please and comfort us by being unnatural, Madame M^re !” 

He had imprisoned both her hands in one of his, and, passing an 
arm about her neck, drew her head down until she looked into his eyes. 
They were full of loving pleading ; fond reproach was in his accent. 

My pretty mother ! my young mother with the silver crown and 
starry eyes ! We will have no more talk of loss and separation. Life is 
too rich, the present hour too sweet, to be embittered by such unhealthy 
fancies. Now Sydney and I are going to make some music for the 
‘ loveliest lady in the land.’ ” 

He brought a footstool for her, drew a screen behind her chair to 
keep off straying draughts, and led me to the piano. For an hour I 
played accompaniments and he sang, selecting, unasked, the songs that 
the silent listener loved. By turning my head slightly, I could see in 
a mirror a picture in which the background was made up of ruddy dusks 
softening, without confusing, the outline of the still white figure. The 
head rested motionless against the cushions of her chair ; the hands lay 
together upon the large, fleecy folds of her gown ; the dark eyes surveyed 
us with intensity that, but for the absurdity of the imagination, would 
have seemed sad. Twice I spoke to her, that the cheerful response 
might dissipate the fancy. 

For she was cheerful. Even in speaking of the time when she must 
leave us to live out our lives in the old homestead as she had lived 
hers, she was not sorrowful. Her views of life and human nature were 
optimistic ; her enjoyment of the society of her friends was sincere and 
cordial; she gave of her good things — love, hope, joy, and faith — 
generously. Her pathway had been clouded at times, but there was no 
chill in the shadow. 

When we went back to her side, she led the talk to pleasant themes, 
checking me gently in the midst of a philippic upon Mrs. Robb by re- 
citing several instances of that unpleasant matron’s genuine kindness to 
the sick and poverty-stricken. It was in answer to my repentant out- 
burst and the expression of a wish that I could, like her, see some line 
or touch of loveliness in everything, that she lifted one corner of the 
veil concealing her holy of holies, and told me how she added to her 
morning and evening prayers, like a collect for all seasons, Faber’s 
lines, — 

Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart 
With charity like thine, 

That self may be the only place 
On earth that does not shine. 

Oblivion of self in regard for others was her hourly walk and practice. 


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563 


She went off to her room at ten o’clock. Passing her door an hour 
later, I saw light beneath it, and tapped for admittance. She had ex- 
changed her white gown for a wrapper, but made no other preparation 
for the night’s rest. Upon the table beside her were pen, ink, and 
paper ; beyond them the little pile of devotional books that were, to 
her single soul, sleeping-draught and morning tonic. A study-lamp 
burned at her elbow. 

You have been working — not resting !” I charged upon her. 

If that was all you came up-stairs for, you might as well have stayed 
with us.” 

I had a thing or two upon my mind, and could not sleep until 
they were off,” she responded. As to staying down-stairs, you must 
not forget that I was young myself once, and betrothed — to Don’s 
father. The boy grows to look strangely like him. I am glad he is 
to have his little wife before many months have passed, — ^glad and 
thankful. To-morrow, dear, when he has gone, we will have a long 
talk together, — you and I. I want you to know how hopefully I con- 
fide my best treasure to your keeping. Now you must run away to 
bed. You will have the lullaby you like best, — the rain upon the 
piazza-roof under your window. I peeped into your room awhile ago 
and heard the first rataplan of the tin drum.” 

A jolly little fire crackled within my fireplace, and an arm-chair 
was wheeled in front of it ; my gown and bedside slippers were warm- 
ing ; a lamp with a rose-colored shade tinged the snow of counterpane 
and pillows. The warmed and glowing atmosphere enfolded me as 
further expression of love that had held me close and fondly all the 
evening. When I knelt in the fire-light to return thanks for bless- 
ings unnumbered in possession, and the greater blessings promised, 
the tears fell fast. Happiness had swelled beyond the boundary of 
smiles. 

I awoke several times during the night by appointment made with 
myself when I laid my head upon my pillow, that I might enjoy anew 
the delicious sensation of falling asleep to the music of the gentle rain. 
Each time I said half aloud, in nestling among the mufflings of cam- 
bric, wool, and down, that I was blest above all other women alive, 
and how good God was to fill my life out round and fair, giving me 
all the desires of my heart when the existences of others, better and 
more worthy of his gifts, were warped and neutral-tinted. 

The morning broke gloriously. The mountains that enclosed our 
valley put on the beautiful garments fresh from the loom of autumn ; 
the farthest peaks were misty plum-color ; between us and the nearest 
swam an azure haze that blended the kaleidoscopic yellow, purple, 
crimson, and russet into perfectness of harmony. Beside my plate 
at breakfast lay a great bunch of chrysanthemums, the long ragged 
petals like tattered gold-leaf. They dripped with moisture, for Don 
had just gathered them from the garden. Breakfast was served at 
eight, that we might linger over it as long as suited us and yet Don be 
ready in season for the nine-thirty train. Every detail of Mrs. Up- 
ton’s household was conducted with like regard to orderly comfort, 
ease that might be enjoyed with a good conscience. The table-talk was 


564 


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as cheery as had been that of last night. Our traveller was to remem- 
ber how full of sunshine his home was up to the last. We prophesied 
success in this, the most important business-trip he had as yet made ; 
we congratulated him that it would take him into the balminess and 
fruitage of California; we gave him absurd commissions, after the 
fashion of Beauty’s sisters, compromising finally upon a bunch of Santa 
Barbara roses, and, as the hour of departure drew near, were seized 
with a sudden caprice to see him olf from our station, when all three 
of us knew that the horses were already harnessed to the carriage to 
take us, and that we had never had any intention that the farewells 
said with in-doors should be final. 

And so the wrench we pretended not to feel was gotten over. 
Madame M^re had had her boy to herself for ten minutes in her room 
and said her blessing — still with a smile — over his head, then sent him 
to me in the library while she gave some orders.” The orders were 
finished just in time for us to step into the carriage and drive briskly — 
not in haste — to the station. We did not alight, but Don stayed at 
the open door of the vehicle until the train appeared, gave each of us 
one more hand-grasp, one lingering, loving look into our eyes, and was 
aboard and off. 

We will drive directly home, if you please, my daughter!” said 
my companion, in an altered tone. She was livid with suffering of 
body or mind, but at my exclamation opened her eyes and signed that 
I was not to be alarmed, striving hard to form the bloodless lips into 
a reassuring smile. Still mutely, she waved her hand toward home, 
and homeward we drove. There was no more color in her face when 
we drew up at her door, but she spoke quite in her natural voice : 

^^It was only a sudden faintness, love. I have had such before. 
Give me your arm up to my room, and call no one.” 

She instructed me further, after I had helped her to the lounge, to 
get medicine from a closet and pour it out for her. Then she lay still, 
her hand pressed over her eyes. When I saw a tear escape and steal 
down the white cheek, I was absolutely terrified. I had never seen 
her weep before. I wound ray arras about her and begged her, between 
my weak sobs, to be comforted. I was sure, I said, that Don would be 
sent back to us, safe and well. 

Poor child !” said the sweet voice, strengthening upon each word 
— poor little girl ! I am selfish to distress you before there is need 
of it. Leave me a little while to myself, and I will tell you all about 
it. My birds have not been fed to-day. When you have attended to 
them, come back to me.” 

I obeyed implicitly and without misgiving as to the purport of the 
talk she was to hold with me. Her powers of self-control were great, 
but the parting from her son was a real affliction. She had over- 
strained nervous forces in the successful attempt to appear brave and 
bright in his sight. I resolved that I would not leave her that day, 
perhaps not to-morrow. Don had consigned her to me. I would care 
for her with fond assiduity learned from him. 

Since that morning I have lost all faith in the truth of presenti- 
ments. I planned, while filling cup and seed-vessels and emptying the 


MORE THAN KIN 


565 


cage-trays, how we would indite a joint epistle that should reach Don 
as soon "as he got to San Francisco. If written this morning, it would 
go out with him in the night express, and probably be handed to him 
within an hour or two after his arrival. I even composed some non- 
sense-verses to accompany the joint epistle, rather with the view of 
diverting his mother than amusing him. 

When I had cared for the birds, I stepped through the long window 
of the library upon the piazza, where the honeysuckles still blossomed 
and hardy roses resisted such frosts as had reached the southernmost 
borders. The day was deliciously fresh, and the sunshine lay in broad, 
still sheets upon floor and terrace on this side of the house. Beyond, 
and following the southern slope, stretched long lines of Don^s pet 
chrysanthemums. He had taken prizes at four horticultural exhibi- 
tions for these flowers as grown in the open air and in greenhouses. 
The gardener was busy among them, tying up some the rain had beaten 
loose from their supports, and clipping away dead stems and leaves. 
I chatted with him while gathering a handful of mignonette for Mrs. 
Upton. 

How long will they be in flower, Thomas I inquired, carelessly, 
and he replied as if he had read my thought ; 

It^ll go hard with me, Miss Sydney, if I don^t keep most of ’em 
until Mr. Upton comes back. Unless, of course, we have uncommon 
hard frosts. I’m loath to have him lose the sight of ’em at their best. 
In the greenhouse, now, we’ll have ’em until the middle of December. 
Will you be going home soon, Miss Sydney? — asking your pardon for 
the question, — ” as I smiled. 

Not for a couple of days, I think, Thomas.” 

Because Mr. Upton’s orders are that a choice bunch of them 
should go to your house every day while he’s away. He’s uncommon 
thoughtful in such matters, Mr. Upton is.” 

The same story everywhere. His love was a great deep, — an at- 
mosphere encompassing me as the sun-filled air flowed caressingly 
about me. I drank it, breathed it, lived upon it. 

Mrs. Upton loved mignonette as her son his chrysanthemums. A 
vase of it stood upon her work-table and desk from the first of May 
until late October. The delicate purity of the scent exhaled by the 
russet-and-green tufts is ever associated in my mind with her. Holding 
the cluster I had culled, I halted upon the porch for a last look down 
the terraced slope before entering the house. Through the library 
windows came the singing of linnet, mocking-bird, and canary. The 
wet mignonette in my hand, the honeysuckle-bells from their sun-bath, 
the roses in the nearest borders, poured out incense from hearts un- 
chilled by premonition of frosty death. Beneath a spreading maple 
on the lawn the exact shape and size of the tree were painted in ochre, 
buff, and crimson. I wondered, idly, that no cunning carpet-designer 
had ever accepted the pattern offered him with every autumn. The 
garden was spacious, and beyond it were other lawns and gardens, red 
and brown roofs peeping between the trees. Half a mile away a white 
spire was tremulously outlined in the shimmering haze drawn skyward 
by the sun. 

VoL. L.— 36 


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This would be ray horae before long. Had I not reason to be 
glad of myself” ? 

Thomases work brought him to the upper end of the alley as I was 
about to go in. He was English, slow of wit, yet fond of hearing 
himself talk. 

Mrs. Robb is main fond of chrysanthemums,” he drawled. She 
was here last week, and agen yesterday morning. She come in by 
the lower gate on a-purpose to see how they was a-coming on. 
She wouldn’t ask for the mistress, but just walked out of the little 
gate same as she’d come in, after I’d showed her them in the garden 
and under glass. A sociable lady is Mrs. Robb — and rale kind- 
hearted.” 

I did not contradict him. He had learned charity of thought and 
speech in a better school than mine. Like mistress, like man. 

Mrs. Upton had not left the lounge, but it was her self-contained, 
unselfish self who smiled gratefully upon my flowers. She plucked 
the leaves from the lower stems that would be submerged in water, 
explaining to me that their decay, not that of the stalks, imparted a 
disagreeable odor to cut flowers. 

I have kept mignonette fresh for a fortnight by observing this 
precaution,” in the even tone of one imparting useful information, 
and by clipping the stems every other day. I change the water daily, 
cleansing the stems carefully.” 

Happily content as to her state of mind and body, I sat down in 
the low chair drawn up to her couch and evidently meant for me. But 
for a dull pulse of pain far down in ray heart when I thought of Don’s 
one-and-twenty days of absence, I should have been blissfully satisfied. 

I cannot recall the steps by which she led me to what she had 
brought me hither to hear. That they were cautious was proved by 
the gradual opening *of my comprehension to the truth I had never 
dreamed of until I had it from her lips. She was the victim of a fear- 
ful malady that could be relieved by nothing short of a critical opera- 
tion, if by that. 

The last provisional clause was kept back until I had learned, with 
what shuddering reluctance I cannot describe, how insidious had been 
the increase of the abnormal growth that was sapping her life; how 
slow she had been to suspect, how loath to believe in the real nature of 
the horror. 

I said to the Father in my prayers that it could not, that it must 
not be! For there were Don, you know, — and you, my almost daugh- 
ter, and your mother, my more than sister, — and the suffering poor 
who seemed to me to need the little I can do for them. It was the 
oft-repeated story of poor Paul and his stake in the flesh over again. 
Not until I heard down to the stilling depths of my soul, as did the 
tried apostle, the whisper, ‘ My grace is sufficient for thee,’ did I risk 
the confirmation or removal of my suspicions by consultation with your 
mother. We were not altogether sure until yesterday what must be 
for life or for ” 

I put my hand upon her mouth. 

Not that !” I said, stoutly. I will not have you say the word I 


MORE THAN KIN 567 

I believe still that you are mistaken, and mamma too. What could 
you know yesterday that you had not known before 
Your mother had a letter from Dr. Barker.^^ 

The name was a shock, for it was that of a specialist of national 
reputation. 

She and I went, by appointment, to see him on last Tuesday. 
His written verdict was in the letter I spoke of. She was to confer 
with Dr. Wentworth last night. If practicable and prudent, I shall 
have the work done while my boy is away. He must suspect nothing 
until the event is certain. You may think it weak, and unworthy of 
an elderly woman,^^ — smiling while the delicate pink deepened in her 
cheeks, — ^^but I want him to think his mother sqund in body and 
mind. I have taken pains to conceal my physical ailments from him 
from the time that, as a lad of twelve, he could not sleep one night 
because I had a violent headache. Somebody had said in his hearing 
that people sometimes died of pain in the head. I have tried to keep 
well and cheerful and comely for him.^^ 

But^^ — urged I, deprecatingly — will not he be wounded when 
he learns that you have denied yourself the solace of his sympathy, and 
him the privilege of helping you bear the trouble 

He must never know it, if all goes well. Upon this point I am 
resolved. The fact and the details would be an inconceivable shock to 
his tender heart. I have thought it over and over until my brain 
spins. When reason is at her coolest and clearest, I see that my duty 
is to shield him from needless suspense and pain. When he told me 
first of his projected journey, I saw a providence, and a merciful one, 
in the opportunity to carry out ray wish. I would have spared you 
the knowledge, too, dear child, had it been possible. As it is now, I 
am selfish enough to be thankful for your society and petting during 
these slow, anxious days. Will you spend them with me?’^ 

\ I assured her eagerly that I should have preferred the petition of 
and for myself, had she not spoken of it, that I would not leave her 
for one waking hour while she needed me. I told her, too, — solemnity 
quelling my agitated spirit, — that Don had committed her to me in 
our last night^s talk, with earnestness akin to prevision. I could not 
comfort and strengthen her as he might, but I was hers, soul and body, 
until he should return to receive account of my stewardship. 

She kissed me with a look that accepted the offering and repaid 
me for it a thousandfold. Then, with the quiet decision she assumed 
when need was of resolute action, she reminded me that it was past the 
hour at which we were wont to begin our daily reading. 

We had studied much together for a year past, reading and dis^ 
cussing works selected by one or both of us, or by Don. He had 
brought home one day Symonds^s Shakespeare’s Predecessors in the 
English Drama,” and we were busy with it now. It lay upon her table, 
the silk marker between the leaves I had shut upon it yesterday fore- 
noon. The sight of the bit of ribbon nearly overcame my enforced 
composure. It was a finger pointing to a care-free past, a line of demar- 
cation between me and the merry-hearted girl who had laughed so few 
hours ago over The Four P’s,” Bolster Doister,” and the first-rate 


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screaming farce of Gammer Gurton.’^ It cost me an effort to announce 
in level accents the title of to-day’s chapter, — The Rise of Tragedy.” 

Mrs. Upton’s chair was in the roomy bay-window that broke the 
line of front wall in her sitting-room. As she listened, she knit a silk 
sock for her son, the last of six pairs I had seen grow under her fingers 
in our morning studies. She was proficient in all graceful, womanly 
industries, and seldom idle. All was outwardly as it had been yester- 
day and the day before, and for a long bright procession of yester- 
days, — but ah ! for the heart that ached and the spirit that quailed 
within me! 

I read on and on, I fear, monotonously, but without faltering, until 
recalled to consciousness of what my lips enunciated by my auditor’s 
movement to lay aside her work, — the signal with us of verbal dis- 
cussion of some point made by the author. Glancing at the lines just 
overpast, I saw that ‘ The Misfortunes of Arthur’ was written by 
learned men, and acted by the members of a legal society before the 
queen. The author of the tragedy was Thomas Hughes. The 
choruses, dumb shows, argument, induction, and some extra speeches — 
all the setting of the play, in short — are ascribed to other students of 
the Inn. Among these occurs the name of Francis Bacon. The 
future Lord Verulam was at that time in his twenty-third year.” 

A scrap of ore out of which one might forge a link in the Shake- 
speare-Bacon controversy,” said the<jlear, soft voice. Was it Carlyle, 
or Emerson, or somebody else, who said of the plays ascribed to great 
William, — Bacon, or a miracle?” 

I was defending the Warwickshire playwright zealously, if not 
according to knowledge, when my companion said, without alteration 
in manner or accent, — 

My love, I think I hear your mother’s voice in the lower hall. 
Will you ask her and Dr. Wentworth to come up?” 


CHAPTER III. 

I USED to say and believe that life was worth living if only be- 
cause it gave me opportunity of knowing two such women as Mrs. 
Upton and my mother. The latter had married at nineteen her 
father’s colleague in the practice of medicine, a man twenty years her 
senior, and already eminent in his profession. Women-doctors and 
colleges for training the same were comparatively rare at that date, yet 
Mrs. Salisbury began almost immediately, under the tutelage of her 
husband, the study of medical science. He laughingly encouraged for 
a while what he regarded as youthful caprice in an intelligent girl, but 
soon recognized as genuine enthusiasm in his calling. He died when 
I was eleven years of age. For eight years his wife had been virtually 
his professional partner, although she had never attended a public 
medical lecture. If there were an important operation to be performed 
by him, his brethren became accustomed to see him introduce as his 
assistant the slight, dignified young matron whose modest self-posses- 
sion and steadfast attention to the matter in hand disabused the most 


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captious of suspicion of unfeminine forwardness. Her nerve never 
failed her, and the practised touch that denotes training in surgery, com- 
bined with sympathetic tact only to be found in a true woman, was 
speedily acknowledged by patients and practitioners as a powerful factor 
in clinical work. Conservatism bowed to conviction of the shrewd 
sense of the husband and the wife^s talents and skill. • Those who came 
to cavil remained to admire, and departed to extol. 

As time went on, Mrs. Salisbury became her husband^s almost con- 
stant companion in his daily rounds, often entering the sick-room at 
his side ; when she did not, hearing a detailed account of the symptoms 
and the action of remedial agents upon his return to the carriage, and 
consulted as frankly as though their sexes were the same. He was 
great enough in himself not to fear the presence near the throne of his 
personality of one whose genius and ability were indisputable. Once 
and again he predicted, more in earnest than in jest, that in the event 
of his decease the bereaved widow would continue the business at 
the old stand, albeit American taste might keep the advertisement 
from his tombstone. Spectators of their singularly harmonious wedded 
life have told me of his prideful fondness in his pupil, and the affec- 
tionate deference paid to her honored master by the brilliant woman. 
His death at fifty-one was hastened by the shock of heavy financial 
losses brought on by generous and misplaced faith in others. His 
style of living had been liberal, his charities lavish, but his income 
justified these and the hope of affluence as well. His wife, as sole ex- 
ecutrix and administratix, was less dismayed than her friends when, 
apart from thirty thousand dollars devised to me, — and which the widow 
religiously set aside as he had directed, — there remained to her, as 
residuary legatee, what was, by comparison with my small fortune, a 
mere pittance. Elsie was born seven months after our father^s death, 
and was, therefore, unprovided for. 

She had passed her second birthday when her mother, after an ex- 
amination in a college of physicians and surgeons, took the degree of 
M.D. and entered upon the practice of medicine in our populous and 
fast-growing suburban town. It was a daring step, but her personal 
popularity was great, and the profession of which her husband had 
been an ornament gave her generous encouragement in unqualified 
testimony to her fitness to follow in his footsteps. In an incredibly 
short time, considering the robust nature of provincial prejudice. Dr. 
Charlotte Salisbury became the fashion. Shortly before his death her 
husband had bought the cottage in which he was born, and enlarged 
and modernized it with the intention of retiring from active profes- 
sional labors at some not distant day. This homestead the intrepid 
widow contrived to retain, and this was the haven to which she with- 
drew when the city home was sold. Under this roof Elsie was born, 
and here we were living in elegant, if modest, comfort, when Dr. Char- 
lotte Salisbury married Raymond Wentworth. 

God forgive me that to this hour the hot blood stains my forehead 
when I speak of my mother’s second marriage ! I can comprehend 
now, as I did not in the glow of youthful intolerance, that she had 
never given the full wealth of her heart to the man who was her 


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father’s friend and contemporary. She awarded him grateful and ad- 
miring-reverence, with, perhaps, never a misgiving that the deeps of 
her rich nature had not been sounded. She was a dutiful and loving 
wife, as she had been dutiful and affectionate as her father’s daughter. 
She mourned in genuine sorrow of soul the breaking of the strong 
staff and beautiful rod on which she had leaned in safety and honor. 
His expressed wishes were the law of her conduct ; in speaking of 
him, tone and mien were chastened almost to devoutness. 

In the fourth year of her widowhood she fell in love for the first 
time in her life, and became Dr. Wentworth’s adoring wife. He was 
thirty years of age, and a bachelor. She was thirty-five, and the 
mother of two children. People usually exclaimed upon first seeing 
them together, ‘‘ What a splendid couple !” yet I question if my mother 
had one really fine feature excepting expressive eyes, gray in color and 
of fair size and shape. Her head was nobly moulded and regal in 
poise ; her mouth, if rather large, showed in speech and smile perfect 
teeth within mobile lips ; every lineament denoted intellect of a high 
order and a thoroughly sweet nature. Dr. Wentworth’s was the most 
nearly perfect physique I have ever looked upon ; his manner was en- 
gaging ; his voice full and round, with a slightly melancholy cadence 
at the end of sentences so well put together as to give the effect of 
elegant language. One had to know him intimately to comprehend 
how little pith was in the polished periods, how meagre the talent he 
burnished and held aloft for the dazzlement of beholders. The astute 
woman of the world, who had lived for twelve years in the closest of 
earthly relations with a man of learning and refinement, was so far 
imposed upon by the few shining gifts of his successor as to credit him 
with all that he claimed to possess. 

One month before the quiet wedding which both preferred to a 
larger gathering, my mother’s only brother died suddenly, wifeless and 
childless, leaving the whole of a large estate to his sister. It is simple 
justice to Dr. Wentworth to admit the improbability that he had any 
expectation of this event when he addressed the prospective legatee, but 
justice also impels criticism of his manner of receiving the goods the 
gods had unexpectedly bestowed. Before the marriage he settled every 
stick and stiver of his bride’s fortune upon herself, and forthwith 
entered upon the career of ostentatious independence that distinguished 
his after-life. Without going into details that would clog the wheels 
of my narrative and forestall certain unfoldings of the story, I will 
state, as the general rule of his conduct and language in this regard, 
that while he got the full benefit of the double lining of down given 
to his nest by his wife’s accession of wealth, he preserved his self- 
respect and won the admiration of his world by accepting, under proud 
protest, luxury and such added dignity of position as riches brought. 
What money he made by the legitimate practice of his profession was 
his. All else was Mrs. Wentworth’s, and thus specified with punctil- 
iousness born of hurt haughtiness that in the eyes of his wife was 
becoming to him and creditable to human nature. She delighted in 
heaping gifts upon him, and fancied herself clever in divining what 
would be the bent of his wishes had pride and an over-nice sense of 


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honor suffered him to cherish desires for which his own purse could not 
pay. Then began a system of timid diplomacy on her part, of studied 
blindness upon his, prefatory to the tactful, tender, and reluctant ac- 
ceptance of the gift. Women never learn wisdom by such experiences. 
The memory of former pleadings with him to let her please him by 
the gift of diamond studs, gold watch, carriage-and-pair, and the riding- 
horse absolutely necessary for the preservation of his health, left her 
with no defence against the absolute refusal, the earnest reminder that 
he married her, not her money ; the pain it cost him to repulse the 
well-meant generosity for which he could not but love her the better, 
if that were possible. And so on, up — or down — to yielding to her 
sometimes tearful importunities, with evident pain to himself, and only 
because he could deny her nothing. The sequUur to each such trans- 
action was, on one side, gentle pensiveness, continued for hours, some- 
times days, the noble fortitude of one who endures a great hurt lest his 
beloved should sustain a less, and, upon the other, eager assiduity to 
prove appreciation of the favor done her by the sacrifice of personal 
feeling and manly independence. If all this was farcical, ours was not 
the only home in which the comedy has been a part of daily life. 

A branch of the same root was the husbandly dread and wifely 
horror lest the envious and evil-disposed should rate her intellect and 
professional skill more highly than his. From the day that made them 
one, her consistent design to efface herself whenever the act would exalt 
him was obvious to me, — then a sharp-eyed critic of fifteen, — and, as it 
irked me to suspect, not a secret to some others. 

I)#. Wentworth^s inner office was also my mother’s sitting-room. 
Her work-table, the davenport upon which she wrote notes and letters, 
her fiowers and birds in winter, were there, and engaged her attention 
to the apparent exclusion of pursuits that had engrossed her during 
Dr. Salisbury’s lifetime. She drove much with her husband, and once 
in a great while entered the chamber of a patient, but always as a 
friend. She even gave offence, occasionally, by obvious indifference to 
cases that seemed serious to sufferers and friends. Now and then she 
made opportunities of proclaiming how rusty she had grown in the 
theoretical knowledge and practice of her whilom profession, what a 
home-lover and home-keeper she had become. I knew this to be 
acting — and over-acting ; that she had never studied harder or observed 
more closely, never so given every power of her fine intellect to the 
consideration of symptoms and the action of remedies as during the 
period of her husband’s increasing fame and the steady eclipse of her 
reputation. 

The situation was phenomenal to my youthful apprehension, unless 
I traced a similitude between it and the gorgeously-apparelled automaton 
chess-player Don took me to see one winter. The majestic figure and 
his unerring moves had painful fascination for me. Yet I could not 
say to Don, when he rallied me upon my grave face and obvious ab- 
sorption in the imposing cheat, that I saw, instead of the gowned and 
turbaned Turk upon the dais. Dr. Wentworth’s front and back offices, 
his suavely wise reception of patients, and my mother’s face bent over 
fancy-work or flower-pots. 


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In others’ sight he never descended from the dais, and his motive 
power was never unveiled. I am confident that the deception was 
maintained in their most private interviews, that she assumed his 
superior knowledge and skill, and he graciously allowed the assump- 
tion. In wholesome disgust at the deception, I could not but recall the 
plea by which Katherine Parr saved her head. In reading aloud 
Strickland’s Queens of England” to Mrs. Upton, I could not quite 
hold my voice steady at the passage describing the diplomacy of the 
royal and most Christian consort : 

‘ I have always held it preposterous for a woman to instruct her 
lord ; and if I have ever presumed to differ with your highness on re- 
ligion, it w'as partly to obtain information for my own comfort regard- 
ing nice points on which I stood in doubt, and sometimes because I 
perceived that, in talking, you were better able to pass away the pain 
and weariness of your present infirmity, which encouraged me to this 
boldness in the hope of profiting withal by your majesty’s learned dis- 
course.’ 

^ And is it so, sweetheart ?’ replied the king. ^ Then are we per- 
fect friends.’ ” 

Raymond Wentworth’s wife could have been perfect friends with 
him upon no other terms. 

The husband is the head of the wife,” I heard him reply once, 
and pointedly, to Don’s argument for the equality of the sexes. If 
your principle were put into practice, the household would be a double- 
headed lusiis naturaeJ^ 

And my dear mother applauded the phrase, her fine eyes shining 
with pride and love upon her superb lord. 

He was never cross to her in public, never demitted the least of 
the graceful attentions due from the chief to an honored lieutenant ; yet 
I think he was never altogether rid of the apprehension that she might 
penetrate the secret of her power and his weakness. Her loyalty must 
have surprised him in moments of candid self-communing, if such 
ever visited him. 

Husband and wife stood together this morning, just within the 
entrance of Mrs. Upton’s drawing-room, evidently expectant of a sum- 
mons to the upper floor. Both were tall. There was hardly the 
difference of half a head between them ; yet, as I perceived from the 
stairs, he was looking down upon her from the height of one of his 
loftiest and blandest moods. His well-fitting morning-coat was but- 
toned below the swell of his broad chest ; his shoulders were squared 
resolutely ; one gloved hand holding his silk hat was cast behind him ; 
the other played with a silky chestnut moustache without hiding a 
politely wearied smile. I knew the mood for one that tried my 
undisciplined soul more than downright and vulgar abuse would 
have done. I caught, too, the pleading intonations that sought to 
dispel it. 

Both turned at my footsteps, Dr. Wentworth leisurely, with perfunc- 
tory interest in the report I might bring ; my mother eagerly, her 
heart in face and upon tongue. 

How is she this morning?” she asked before I could kiss her. 


MORE THAN KIN 573 

Very bright and brave I answered, breathlessly. And quite 
comfortable. She wishes you to come up.^^ 

Dr. Wentworth bowed in stepping back for his wife to pass. Look- 
ing around at the stair-foot, she saw that he did not follow, and made 
an anxious pause. 

‘‘ Come, Raymond, dear.’^ 

Not without an invitation, love. If our friend desires my pres- 
ence, she will send for me.^^ 

I bit my lip. To strike him I must thrust through my mother’s 
heart. 

The ^ you’ was plural,” I said, with tolerable grace. Mrs. Upton 
mentioned you both by name.” 

“ She is very good. Your mother and Dr. Barker have shown 
themselves so competent to the management of the case that I am, at 
best, but a supernumerary.” 

You are physician-in-chief,” returned my mother, emphatically, 
without whom we cannot take a step.” 

Opinions may differ upon that, as upon other points, my dear.” 
But he condescended to follow her up the stairway. 

Left below, — for I, at least, had nothing to do with the consultation, 
— I stamped rather than walked up and down the floor in a paroxysm 
of angry mortification. To see such a woman the puppet of such a 
man would stir any lover of justice to indignation. When the puppet 
was the woman dearest to me, the object of my exulting adoration, and 
the man was despised in my eyes, the exhibition drove me to frenzy. 
I anticipated the prolonged penance my mother must pay for abetting 
her friend’s visit to the city physician, if she had not herself proposed 
it. Her husband’s vanity was made up of nerve-tips, and, as his 
manner showed, every nerve was smarting. With the intense self- 
consciousness of one who knows himself to be as weak as vain, he 
descried with the naked eye intentional slights which greater souls 
could not have seen with a microscope, and resented them in inverse 
proportion to his deserts. While the precious life of one whose good- 
ness to him and to his had been beyond computation hung upon the 
flutter of a breath, he could stand to consider questions of precedence 
and ceremony, and stab as he best understood how to pierce the soul 
already racked with anxiety as to the fate of her beloved friend. 

They were a long time up-stairs, I began to tell myself, as my im- 
patient fit subsided. It was silly and selfish in me to waste time and 
temper upon what could not affect her whose interests were now para- 
mount. Whatever might be my private opinion of Dr. Wentworth’s 
mental and moral calibre, the sufferer up-stairs believed in him, and 
must be sustained in that faith until the great trial was over. He was, 
beyond doubt, a skilful surgeon. His head and, I could not but add, 
his heart were cool ; his hand was steady and deft. Surgery was his 
specialty, and several critical operations successfully performed by him 
had given him more than provincial fame. Only a week ago he had 
been called into consultation with a corps of celebrated metropolitan 
doctors upon a case of unusual interest, and, according to his theoi:y, 
had taken a prominent part in that which resulted in a cure noised 


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abroad as miraculous. Impartial judgment decided that while he 
should never give the casting vote as to the need of the knife, he was 
competent to wield it when wiser men had decreed the use of it. I 
wondered — as from sudden inspiration — if this were not also my 
mother’s secret persuasion. Beneath the show of absolute trust and 
admiration that galled me to the quick did the professional side of her 
rate him at his exact value? Was her apparent endorsement of all he 
did the mask for a brave, sustained effort to straighten liis deflections 
and ward off the consequences of his erring judgment? 

As the meaning of what daily went on under my eyes grew and 
glowed before my contemplation, my heart stood still. From won- 
dering reverence for the grand creature in whose dual life conscience 
and heart touched hands across what would have seemed to timid 
natures a mighty chasm, fancy passed into speculation as to what 
would or might be the end of the pious fraud. How long would the 
sensitive vanity of the occupant of the throne brook the whisper of 
the concealed vizier ? Since no mortal is ubiquitous, might not some 
exigency find him alone and unprepared? A single failure in tact 
would wreck the wife’s influence. A word such as Mrs. Robb had 
dropped to the effect that he was firsted, not seconded” by his part- 
ner, would infuriate him to the rending of the silken leading-strings 

so cleverly disguised. And then 

My hands and feet were numb with cold ; a viewless wall closed 
upon me and hindered respiration. When I heard the visitors de- 
scending the stairs, I shook off, as it were, a horrible nightmare, and 
ran into the library. Just then I could not look into my mother’s 
eyes, or support her husband’s presence. The long window through 
which I would have fled into the garden was fast, and the bolt was 
stiff. There was no time to struggle with it. I must have wrought 
myself into a state akin to dementia, for I had but the one motive in 
mind of eluding observation until I could comport myself more deco- 
rously than was practicable just now. 

I stood close against the frame of the door connecting library and 
drawing-room, folding the velvet portiere about me. I never thought 
of the chance that they might linger in the outer apartment to consult 
as to the case they had examined together. I marvel still that my 
mother’s fine sense of propriety did not dictate a different course. 

The first sentence I overheard put the discovery of myself out of 
the question : 

If you are bent upon murdering your friend, you must choose 
some other confederate. Your favorite Dr. Barker may be less scru- 
pulous than your husband.” 

To my surprise, the reply was in the wife’s mildest voice : 

I have not cited Dr. Barker’s opinion in opposition to yours, 
Raymond. I merely questioned if your diagnosis were altogether 
correct. She has remarkable will-power, and is less nervous than one 
would believe possible in the circumstances. I think if the truth 

were told her she would instantly propose ” 

‘‘ That is your theory. I have mine,” broke in Dr. Wentworth, 
heedless of common courtesy. If I am to perform the operation, it 


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575 


is, I submit, somewhat important that my views should have some 
weight. If you are to run the affair, do not shirk responsibility. 
That would be — womanish 

I guessed at the sneering smile from his tone. As he grew in- 
sulting, my mother became calm. I divined, too, for whose sake she 
hid the writhings of a wounded heart and continued to argue in sup- 
port of her position. 

It is because I value your reputation, and because this is no 
common case, that I urge mature consideration of all possibilities. 
My confidence in your skill is perfect. But I have heard you say 
that women are, sometimes, better judges than more learned men of 
one another’s physical idiosyncrasies. The fear I have expressed is 
not new to me. It is based upon careful study of symptoms that some 
months ago excited my apprehensions.” 

It is strange that you have never alluded to them until lately. 
Yet not so strange, after all, perhaps. This is not the first instance 
by many in which I have been kept in the dark until you saw fit to 
admit me to your counsels. If I have not seemed conscious of this 
before, it was not that I have not observed and felt every indication 
of your growing independence of myself and such poor service as I 
have been able to render one so gifted and distinguished as Dr. Char- 
lotte Salisbury — Wefotworth 

I have heard other men say cruelly unjust things to the women 
they had sworn to cherish, — men of piety and refinement, whom the 
world at large accredited, likewise, with humanity. No other exhi- 
bition of the power to wound, vested by law and gospel in husband or 
wife, ever appalled me as this unexpected demonstration from the 
suave, elegant physician. Had the woman he addressed shrieked, or 
sobbed, or swooned, I should have thought it natural. It was more 
sadly significant of the frequency of such scenes that the brief pause 
succeeding the last speech was not broken by so much as a sigh. 

‘‘ There is the carriage, dear,” was the next remark, in a full, 
gentle tone. I am afraid we have detained you inconveniently long. 
I know how full your hands are. There is no need that this matter 
should be decided to-day. Further developments may make plain the 
path of duty and expediency. Would you like to have me go home 
now, or shall I stay with Mrs. Upton a little longer?” 

He answered sulkily, evidently but half appeased by her deferential 
query : 

Stay — if you like. Perhaps you may quiet measurably her 
intense nervous excitement. Give valerian, red lavender, or bromide 
of potassium, should it continue. It is of the last importance that she 
should be kept tranquil. I will look in again in about two hours. 
Let her suppose that I am to call for you in time to take you home to 
luncheon. She might be agitated did she suspect my second visit 
to be professional.” 

He had grown composed and perfunctory : the kiss without which 
he never left his wife for an hour was dutifully given : in the hall he 
raised his voice slightly, that the Au revoivy my darling !” might reach 
the upper chamber and delude the invalid into belief of his easy mind 


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witli respect to herself. He was not consciously hypocritical, and better 
men find their tempers sweetened by overflow and gust. 

Misled by the silence in the outer room into the idea that it was 
untenanted, I peered from behind my curtain. Through the front 
window I saw Dr. Wentworth, erect and stately, march down the 
walk and step into his carriage, leaning forward, as the horses started, 
to lift his hat to the wife he had left. She returned the salute with a 
wave of the hand, turned from her outlook, walked a few steps, paused 
irresolute and remained standing for a full minute, hands clasped 
tightly upon one another and head bent. Not daring to stir, I gazed 
at her whitening face with new agony in my heart, — the anguish of 
seeing her torn by suffering with which I might not intermeddle. She 
was hardly a dozen feet from me in body. Death could not have sun- 
dered us more completely in spirit. Had the man who wounded her 
been my father, I could have flown to her and mingled my tears with 
hers over his injustice and petulance. What I branded, mentally, as 
the monstrous relation she had assumed to this man cut her off from 
my sympathy with, or just apprehension of, the nature of that which 
made her vulnerable, and lent him the art to pierce her through with 
incommunicable sorrows. 

The awful minute during which, all unconscious of my scrutiny, 
she stood motionless in the middle of the room, paling visage and 
clinched fingers testifying to the inward battle she must ever wage 
alone, was ended by her abrupt motion to cast herself upon her knees 
before a chair. Her face hidden upon her outstretched arms, she lay, 
rather than crouched there, dumb, still, but shaken by dry sobs more 
terrible to look upon than excess of weeping. I stole soundlessly to 
the long window nearest me, wrestled desperately with the bolt, and 
escaped into the shrubbery. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Half an hour elapsed before I dared show my face in Mrs. 
Upton’s room. The scene was peaceful, bright with the sunlight that 
had crept around to the invalid’s feet, and cheerful with the tones of 
the two friends. My mother had laid aside her hat, and produced 
from her reticule a purse she was crocheting as a Christmas-gift for 
her husband. Mignonette scent mingled with the half-bitter odor of 
a bowl of white chrysanthemums Don had set that morning upon his 
mother’s table. Both ladies turned at the sound of the opening door. 

Here is our truant !” said my hostess. 

And my mother as blithely, — 

We were exchanging conjectures as to your hiding-place, my 
daughter. I thought you might have walked over to see Kitty Wil- 
cox. She called to see you this morning. We are agreed — Mrs. 
Upton and I — that you should not be kept in suspense any longer. 
Everything is settled. The operation is simple, and we think will be 
attended with little danger. It is to be done in a few days, and as 
quietly as. possible. Our dear friend wishes this especially. Not a 


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creature in the neighborhood is to know it. She can trust her servants, 
and the nurse to be brought from New York will be received as a 
visitor.^^ 

She had told me everything in half a dozen sentences, with no 
waste of words and in the matter-of-fact way that might go with the 
utterance of an unimportant piece of gossip. Her power of quelling 
nervous disorder was a gift. I thought how useless had been the 
prescription of a choice of drugs. Her gift had wrought like a charm 
upon her companion. Mrs. Upton^s manner, which had been calm 
while I read and talked with her, was now almost gay. It was appar- 
rent that a weight had left her heart. 

In very shame I struggled to emulate the bravery of the pair of 
strong women. I stooped to kiss the crown of silvery hair above the 
serene brow of one, and, sitting down upon her footstool, asked certain 
questions as to symptoms and the regimen indicated by which the 
system was to be prepared for the excision. The child of two physi- 
cians, and the step-child of a surgeon, was not terrified by the details. 
The thought of the ordeal was already familiar to me. But I must be 
instructed in the duties delegated to me as the custodian of the dear 
patient. I had a talent for nursing, and had often exercised it. I 
inquired boldly if I might not take the place and office of the pro- 
fessional city nurse. I engaged to obey orders to the letter, and that 
my nerves would not play me false. 

Mrs. Upton took me in her arms impulsively as I said it. I felt 
her tears upon my face as she spoke : 

Darling daughter ! Greater love could no child have than this. 
It may not be. The burden is not one for your young heart and 
shoulders. But I shall never forget — nor will Don — that you have 
begged to have it laid upon you.^^ 

My mother^s decision was the same, and as prompt. She gave me, 
as compensation for the disappointment, plenty to do. I was to see 
that the prescribed diet and rules for daily living received proper 
attention. We were to take several short drives each day, that Mrs. 
Upton might, without fatigue, get abundance of fresh air. Between- 
whiles she was to spend much time upon the lounge, and I must 
see to it that her mind did not dwell upon mournful or agitating 
themes. 

^^In short,^^ — -the dictator concluded in the firm, sweet voice that 
was like elixir to heart and spirit, — you two girls are to have a ^ jolly 
time’ together, build up your nervous systems and freshen your com- 
plexions by keeping early hours, — and enough of them, — eating what 
you ought to eat, and leaving uneaten the things you ought not to eat, 
writing to Don every day, of course, and never letting him know now, 
or in days to come, that his mother was ever really ill in her life. That 
will be a secret worth keeping from him — and from C. A. E. !” 

I recollected myself just in time not to tell her that the newspaper- 
woman, as she gloried in calling herself, had interviewed Don but 
yesterday as to the visit to Dr. Barker which both of them imagined 
was known to nobody outside of the two households. To keep back 
the remark was the first exercise of my new office of guardian. What 


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I said, carelessly, instead, to hide the trifling awkwardness of the pause, 
was not well chosen : 

I will write at once to Kate Wilcox and excuse myself from her 
luncheon-party next week/^ 

My love ! when you have ordered a new gown purposely for the 
occasion expostulated my mother. 

‘^Upon what pretext will you withdraw the acceptance already 
sent?” said Mrs. Upton. 

I answered them in one disdainful breath : 

As if I cared for wearing the new gown that once ! Upon no 
pretext at all to her, except that circumstances over which I have no 
control oblige me to refuse myself the pleasure — and all that, you know. 
Do you suppose for one moment, dear Mrs. Upton, that I could be so 
heartless as to leave you for a few hours of so-called pleasure? or 
that they could be anything but slow agony to me ?” 

I know it better than you can tell me. Yet for my sake you 
will endure them. We cannot afford, at this juncture, to excite sus- 
picion. It is altogether natural that you should spend the first week, 
or ten days, or even the whole term of Don’s absence, with me. It is 
not natural — or, what amounts in society to the same thing — conven- 
tional, that you should retract a promise given to a friend because you 
cannot leave a woman who has cogent reasons for wishing to be thought 
well.” 

A shade of nervous worry, new to my sight, crossed the face. The 
serene depths of her eyes were ruffled ; her hands shook in passing over 
my hair. She tried to recover her late manner, but ineffectually. 

^^I should call it whimsical folly if another woman shrank with 
dread that she could not shape into words from the ante-mortem inquest 
that will sit upon me if the truth should take wind. I am old enough 
to put away childish horrors. But the fear is a mild edition of Prome- 
theus’s lacerated liver. I seem to hear and feel the vultures. Pray 
God my boy may never know of my weak, silly notions and my real 
pain !” 

I sprang to catch her as she drooped to one side of her chair. The 
bluish pallor that had overspread her face at the station was there now ; 
her hands plucked at her chest ; her breath intermitted alarmingly. 
My mother loosened her clothing and lowered the adjustable chair to 
an easy angle ; then, bidding me support the lax figure, poured out 
something from a phial, administered it, and, her fingers on the suf- 
ferer’s pulse, her lips set hard, her eyes upon Mrs. Upton’s face, watched 
for the effect of the potion. 

‘‘The paroxysm is passing,” she said, presently and reassuringly. 

The patient opened her eyes upon a smile of resolute cheer. 

“ You are better now,” said the sympathetic accents. “ The worst 
is over. It was not a very bad attack.” 

A wan gleam responded. The weak hand groped for mine, and, 
feeling it to be icy cold, Mrs. Upton looked anxious. 

“Don’t let Sydney be frightened. Tell her what it is,” she whis- 
pered. 

My mother arose abruptly, and, going to a closet, took out another 


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679 


phial. For some moments she was too intent upon counting the drops 
of a dark liquid into a glass and measuring teaspoonfuls of water to 
mix with it, to speak. Not until she had held it to lips that were 
regaining color did she give sign of having heard the request concern- 
ing me. 

Sydney has never had an hysterical fit, but she knows that such 
are more alarming than dangerous. If she would be of use to you 
she must bear this in mind.^^ 

The admonition was upon her lips when her husband’s ring was 
heard. She hastened into the hall and called to him over the balus- 
trade : 

Come up at once, Raymond.” 

The tone was professional, and in ring authoritative. Some power- 
ful emotion had mastered wifely reverence, or swept it aside for the 
instant. The summons was not obeyed in haste. In the stillness of 
expectancy we heard the visitor lay aside his gloves and hat upon the 
rack in the hall ; then — I could hardly credit it of one whose good- 
breeding was a proverb — he breathed an opera-air between his teeth in 
the deliberate ascent of the stairs. A shade less of refinement would 
have converted it into a whistle. Mrs. Upton’s eyes were closed again, 
and she did not appear to notice that anything was amiss. My mother 
avoided my eye ; she paled perceptibly, yet met the laggard upon the 
threshold of the chamber with collected mien and ready word : 

Mrs. Upton has had one of her faint turns. I wish you had been 
here in time to ward it oflF!” 

Dr. Wentworth, with the cool grace for which he was renowned, — 
the happy blending of personal interest in the individual, and conscious 
mastery of the disease that had brought back more than one almost- 
frightened-to-death patient from the grave’s mouth, — laid his fingers 
upon Mrs. Upton’s wrist. I have not described as it deserves his 
manner of performing so simple an act, and I despair of conveying an 
adequate idea of it. It was an art, and inimitable. I am not at all 
sure that there was not genius in it. I am altogether sure that his 
income was doubled by the degree of perfection to which he had brought 
what is considered by most practitioners too slight a matter to receive 
serious consideration. 

Be calm and confident !” it seemed to say. Around your 
quaking form I draw the awful circle, not of the Church, but of my 
Personality. With my touch upon the helm of your life, you may 
dismiss your forebodings. I could steer my way between rocks, reefs, 
and sand-bars with my eyes shut.” , 

He usually cast them down and lowered the lids, a flash of fine 
contempt for the adversary that thought to outwit him touching his 
well-cut mouth and dilating his nostrils. The flash was an indulgent 
smile by the time he had counted thirty beats. He let Mrs. Upton’s 
hand dowm reverently, yet caressingly, upon the arm of her chair, — 
another touch of genius, — and laughed low and lightly : 

I hope I may always have as good a pulse as yours is at this 
moment. My dear wife is more learned than I in many — in most 
— things appertaining to our profession, but her sympathies run away 


580 


MORE THAN KIN 


with her judgment sometimes. Had I not understood this so well, I 
should have rushed up-stairs just now, expecting to find you in artieulo 
mortiSy instead of — as you are — likely to outlive all three of us. The 
seizures which alarm Mrs. Wentworth are symptomatic merely. They 
represent one of the many phases of hysteria. Their name is legion, 
and not one of them ever proved fatal.^^ 

‘‘You do not think, then,^^ — her eyes meeting his without a shade 
of fear, — “that they may indicate organic disease of the heart 

He laughed again, in amusement that could not have been simu- 
lated : 

“ I gave you credit for too much common sense to nurse that notion. 
The heart gets a vast deal of blame that should be laid upon other 
organs which popular sentiment rates as less dignified, — why, I cannot 
say. Ninety-nine hundredths of the cases diagnosed as aflfections of 
the heart are dyspepsia ; fifty per cent, of the remainder may be set 
down to the credit of lungs or spleen. If you stay with us until you 
die of heart-disease. Dr. Parr will be but an infant of days by com- 
parison.^^ 

His manner and smile were engaging to fascination. The patient’s 
eyes gleamed gratefully ; she lifted herself as a drooping flower revives 
in dew-laden air. » 

“And you believe that, after a week or two, these foolish attacks 
will be as though they had not been, and this over-tired body as nearly 
good as new as is compatible with the weight of forty-seven years and 
the memories of past infirmities?” 

“ I know it !” 

Handsome and commanding as one born to rule the realm of dis- 
ease, he beamed benignly upon her. After all, the secret of his pro- 
fessional success was not so occult as I may have made it appear in the 
telling. It is the way of the average human being to take a man at 
his own self-valuation, provided he stands up fiercely to his guns, be 
they Quaker cannon or veritable munitions of war. It is a truism 
that anything is bound to succeed and bring wealth to the owner, if 
advertised long and loudly. Dr. Wentworth’s every gesture, tone, and 
pose advertised him. He was panoplied and placarded by nature and 
by art with certificates of popular power. His wife regarded him now 
as the single-minded devotee his enshrined saint. He had, within 
the hour, hurt and humbled her in her own sight and in the presence 
of others. He made light of the skill she had spent years in acquiring ; 
he set the foot of masculine supremacy — because masculine — upon her 
queenly neck ; he belittled her before her child, and swept aside, as he 
might a puff of smoke, that upon which she believed might hang a 
human life, and she remembered it no more in the pride and joy with 
which she claimed this august being as her very own. In spirit and in 
letter she called him “ lord.” Blind adoration gilded for her the feet 
which one side of her nature knew to be clay. 

I made an opportunity to lure her into my room while physician 
and patient chatted together. A trunk must be packed and sent to me, 
since my visit here would be prolonged. I broke right into the middle 
of our enumeration of the contents of this : 


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581 


Mamma, are you and Doctor^^ — my one name for him — to have 
no other assistant than this nurse? Would it not be safer to have 
Dr. Barker or some one of equal eminence? Is it not customary 

Mrs. Upton is unwilling to have more persons present than the 
state of the case absolutely requires, she answered, readily, You 
have seen how sensitive she is on this point. I could have wished for 
the presence of a third physician ; but there is really no need of it, 
and we have Dr. Barker^s opinion as to the feasibility of the operation 
and her fitness to undergo it. Were she a charity patient, I should not 
hesitate to do the work myself, with no help except such as a tolerable 
nurse could render. I have done it, and more than once. In at least 
five cases your father had no assistant except myself, and the patients 
recovered. No ! there is no risk on that head.^^ 

She seemed to say it to herself rather than to me, and I caught at 
the slight emphasis I thought pressed upon the relative pronoun. 

Where, then, does the [)eril lie 

The tremor in my voice recalled to her how much I had at stake 
in the matter she was trying to weigh with professional dispassionateness. 

“ My darling she said, affectionately, if I could assure you that 
in any such case there is no peril, I would gladly relieve your solicitude 
for one so dear to us all. But you are strong enough to hear the truth. 
The best that can be said of surgery is that it expels wrong by violence. 
But where there are no complications, when the subject is healthy and 
reasonably strong, and the surgeon skilful, as in the present case, the 
chances for good greatly outnumber those for disaster. Keep up a 
brave heart, girlie ! and hope and pray — as will we all — that the Great 
Healer will order everything aright, and for our happiness.^^ 

She never preached, and seldom talked the religion she lived. The 
tender solemnity of the last sentence brought me very near to her. 

I wish you were to do it I uttered, impulsively. I think 
God would not let the knife swerve in your hand.^^ 

Her glance was keen, almost cold. 

The knife will not go wrong. Your prejudices are unworthy of 
your reason, Sydney. Some day, perhaps, you will do justice to one 
whom you have never read aright. You would better write to Madame 
Voise to send your gown directly here. As to the things to be packed 
by your maid, I will make a list of them if you will dictate it.^^ 

She sat down at my desk. With a swelling heart I named the 
articles needed, a mist that stung my eyelids blurring the outlines of 
the calm face bowed over the paper. Having been born of her body 
and her soul, nothing I could say or do could alienate her, but I lost 
ground in her esteem, perhaps in her affection, whenever I intimated 
an adverse criticism of her husband. No matter how light and in- 
direct might be the stricture, she perceived and repelled it. Praise 
of herself at his expense was invidious and offensive. I could not say 
that but for the recollection of her crouching, convulsed figure, beaten 
down under his unmanly assault, I should never have spoken out the 
wish whose expression she resented. And in that smarting moment, as 
ever, I honored her too truly to taunt her with the supremacy of wifely 
idolatry over maternal affection. 

Yol. L. — 37 


582 


MORE THAN KIN. 


With the vehemence of youth that feels itself to be misapprehended 
and unjustly condemned, I hated him who had supplanted me. The 
influence that warped an upright nature and turned mother against 
daughter could be only evil, and that continually. 

Yet 

the sweetest soul 

That ever looked with human eyes 

believed in her friend’s husband. Over the luncheon to which she 
could not persuade her physicians to stay, I hearkened with more than 
passable patience to praises of his rare and radiant gifts, every word 
binding upon me more tightly the obligation of apparent acquiescence 
in her estimation of the paragon. 

The day left a bad taste in my mouth which not even a note from 
Don, scribbled on the westward-bound train, could dispel. I had once 
overheard my step-father regret mildly to my mother my unhappy 
temper.” I had never been more nearly of his mind than when I found 
that night that I could not pray down the boiling bitterness of my 
thoughts of him. He had ‘‘ feared” aloud to me, upon another occa- 
sion, that I was ^Misposed to vindictiveness.” I could not gainsay 
that, either. Had news been brought me next morning that the popu- 
lar physician had been found dead in his bed of the malady whose 
existence he flouted, I should probably have been shocked ; 1 should 
certainly have felt for my mother’s sorrow. Sitting, sorry and sullen, 
over my fire, after I had risen from my knees, I said, remorselessly, 
that I should be relieved to know that he was out of my way forever. 
Through him my ideal of womanhood and motherhood was dimmed ; 
I found it intolerable that my second mother’s clear vision should be 
dazzled by his specious arts, and upon all these points I was muzzled 
by natural affection and expediency. Not even Don had fathomed the 
depth of my dislike for my nominal ^^family-connection.” To his 
mother, with whom I was frank about everything else, I must play 
the hypocrite, or imperil her vital interests. 

Unless a majority of good Christians lie, it ought not to be hard to 
pray, Forgive us our trespasses^ as we forgive those who trespass against 
us,^^ I went to bed without mocking Omniscience by the petition. 
The last thing I would have asked of Heavenly mercy was such for- 
giveness as my soul meted out for him whose trespasses were condoned, 
so far as I could judge, by everybody but myself. 

If I did not grow in all fair and saintly graces during that week, 
it was not for want of a living example of the choicest of these. But 
for the one acrid drop at the bottom of my heart, every hour would 
have been filled with tenderest comfort. For my saint comforted me, 
while I ostensibly ministered unto her, — comforted me for her son’s 
absence, and for the trial the shadow of which stole closer with the 
going down of each sun. No outward preparation portended this. 
Her house, always a model of delicate and dainty keeping,” was in 
such absolute order as betrayed how long had been her outlooking upon 
dread possibilities. There was nothing to worry or fatigue her. When 
she had slipped into my daily letter to Don the note written at her 
escritoire in the sunny window, with my mignonette-sprays still living 


MORE THAN KIN 


583 


and breathing before her, and issued needful instructions for the day 
to her perfectly-trained servants, she left herself nothing to do more 
arduous than a stated number of rounds upon Don’s socks, our morn- 
ing’s sacred and secular readings, and the drives that were a part of 
the physician’s ordinance. 

Her spirits never flagged ; her talk was more vivacious and richer 
than I had ever known it, and she was always the most delightful 
conversationalist of her circle; her interest in whatever pertained to 
me, her constant companion, was evinced in a thousand ways. On 
the evening before Kitty Wilcox’s luncheon she chided me play- 
fully for my indifference to what, she averred, occupied much of her 
thoughts. 

‘‘ Am I growing more frivolous ?” she queried. Or are you set- 
tling down before your time ? That the affair is in honor of pretty 
Kitty’s betrothal should excite your sympathies ; that it is to be the 
^ swellest’ event of the opening season should awaken your curiosity. 
Kow, I cannot fall asleep conveniently o’ nights for speculating as to 
the probable truth of rumors pointing to liveried footmen by the pair 
and trio; of fabulous prices paid for chrysanthemums as big as 
dinner-plates, and peaches as big as cocoanuts, and ices such as the 
mind of Mapleton never conceived of. Why, I am credibly informed 
that wines are to be served in glasses blown in Venice a thousand years 
ago, and that not one favor is more than a week old, each having been 
manufactured expressly for the guest who will receive it. The chan- 
deliers are to be crystal music-boxes, set to tunes adapted to each 
course ” 

Beginning with marine airs, out of compliment to the raw oysters, 
and concluding with ‘ Araby’s Daughter’ as coffee is brought in !” 
interposed I. ^^None of these things move me, mother mine! I 
would rather lunch en Ute-ct-Ute with you, on cold chicken and bread- 
and-butter, washed down with a cup of your incomparable tea, than fill 
my place at this Aladdin-lamp feast. Perhaps I am, as you say, settling 
down. That implies clearness and calm, doesn’t it? Stirring up 
suggests froth and dregs. I like to be racked off* gently, without 
touching the turbid deposit. And, when we are together, — -just we 
two, — you looking like a blessed white angel, the curtains drawn, the 
wind singing at the window, lamp and fire at their cheeriest, and I 
sitting on your foot-cushion, — thvs /^ — suiting action to word, — my 
head upon your knee, — thus, — I feel the gentle run of the wine of life. 
There is no joy but calm, — such calm as this.” 

She sent me to the library-shelves for Tennyson, and made me read 
The Lotus-Eaters” aloud, although both of us knew it almost by heart. 
And after that, still sitting at her feet, the book laid in the lap of a 
chair, I dipped into the leaves, as a humming-bird into flower-cups, 
bringing up tiny tastes of honey, reading, I remember, all of the 
Brook Song, and a line here and there from In Memoriam,” and 
talking pityingly of the bootless penances of St. Simeon Stylites, and 
lingering wonderingly over the six strokes of the master-pencil that 
showed us the eagle clasping the crag with crooked hands, solitary 
in the ring of the azure world, watching the wrinkled sea crawling 


584 


MORE THAN KIN. 


beneath him. Memory recalls with especial vividness the scene, as I 
have sketched it, during the interval of musing quiet that succeeded 
my reading of what is scarcely more than a fragment : 

0 sad No More I O sweet No More / 

O strange No More ! 

By a mossed brook-bank on a stone 

1 smelt a wildweed flower alone : 

There was a ringing in my ears, 

And both my eyes gushed out with tears. 

Surely all pleasant things had gone before, 

Low-buried fathom-deep beneath with thee, 

No More ! 

My companion spoke first : 

It is an echo, faint and weird, of the mood that brought forth 
^ Break! break! break!’ Wordsworth found the same chord in his 
‘ meanest flower that blows.’ ” 

Lying back in her chair, her hands crossed upon her white gown, 
dreamy eyes looking out upon empty air, she resumed, presently : 

I am trying to analyze the sad sweetness of the response given by 
human hearts to the sublime simplicity of such lines. Is it genius or 
feeling that finds the way so surely to the Innermost which only our 
dearest ones are suffered to enter, and they but seldom ?” 

I quote her words to show how impersonal was our chat that night, 
how placid were our spirits, and how natural it was that we should part 
happily and sleep soundly. 


CHAPTER V. 

The yellow light of an October morning, reflected from my cham- 
ber-walls, awoke me to the recollection that it was a /^<6-day. Between 
them, my mother and Mrs. Upton had awakened my but lately in- 
diflPerent self into a girlish desire to be one of the favored party 
selected to congratulate the belle of the village upon her engagement to 
a city lawyer. I was fond of society, and Kitty and I were fond of 
one another. She had been in several times during the past week to 
talk over things.” If the monster fruits and flowers and musical 
glasses of Mrs. Upton’s merry catalogue were apocryphal, there 
remained enough charming novelties to astonish our quiet town, and 
the company to be collected about these promised to be charming. My 
gown had come home two days ago, and fitted me to perfection. Mrs. 
Upton and I had chosen it together. The fabric was camel’s-hair 
cloth, exquisitely fine and soft ; in color pearl-gray, and wrought upon 
skirt, sleeves, and vest with silk of a darker shade into a pattern of 
daisies and grasses. The flowers were centred with knots of silver 
thread and the leaves veined with the same. My bonnet of cr^pe de 
Chine matched the ground-color of the gown, and was trimmed with 
French marguerites and silver grasses. Mrs. Upton had given me a 
handkerchief edged with point-lace daisies, and I found beside my plate 
at breakfast a casket, tiny and tempting, with Tiffany’s stamp upon it, 


MORE THAN KIN, 


585 


and Don^s card by it. Within, upon a velvet bed of palest sea-green, 
was a brooch of frosted silver. The design was one full-blown mar- 
guerite, one half opened, a bud, and a stalk of bearded wheat. The 
heart of the open flower was of seed-pearls ; each kernel of the ripe 
grain was a pearl, and an opal dew-drop clung to the half-closed bud. 

I broke down at sight of the surprise-gift, crying and laughing 
together in a wild, childish way that called forth Mrs. fjpton^s playful 
remonstrance : 

^^Dear child ! have some regard for your eyes and complexion ! It 
will be a poor compliment to Don^s choice of a trinket to look your 
worst when you wear it for the first time.^^ 

I checked the tears, but my heart was so large with the conscious- 
ness of being beloved and spoiled out of all proportion to my worthi- 
ness, that a happy sob trembled up through my talk from time to time ; 
and when my mother, who was to see me dress and to remain with Mrs. 
Upton until I got back, arrived at eleven o^clock, I was in danger of 
a hopeless relapse. I enjoyed every moment of that morning. The 
subdued bustle of preparation pervading the household was such cordial 
sympathy in my concerns as might attend upon the bridal festivities 
of a daughter of the home. Rosalie, Mrs. Upton’s own maid, laid out 
each article in which I was to be endued upon my bed ; my mother 
dressed my hair; Rosalie put on my silk stockings and the boots of 
Su^de leather of the precise tint of my robe and bonnet. Mrs. Upton, 
resting among the pillows of my lounge, superintended the process from 
the first to the last stroke. In her every glance and intonation, as in 
my mother’s touch, was the caressing assurance that love and pride 
and hope were, for them, bound up in my unworthy self, that what 
they had done to make my attire elegant and tasteful and becoming 
was the tangible manifestation of fond desire to forward my happiness 
by every conceivable means. And Don, in his flight toward the 
Golden Gate, was picturing the scene to himself, and idealizing the 
figure that finally stood before the cheval glass, full-toiletted, and 
blushing with delight to behold the by-so-much-handsomer-than-every- 
day reflection of her slim self that she questioned the mirror’s honesty 
or the fidelity of her eyesight. Was another girl in the land so 
generously endowed with the real goods of existence, so royally dowered 
with love? 

My mother averted the threatening shower by a new diversion. 
David, the butler, brought into the apartment and deposited upon the 
floor in front of me, as he might a gun-carriage designed for my de- 
struction, Don’s tripod and camera. In consigning his gift for me to 
his mother’s care, he had added the injunction that, upon a plate chosen 
by himself, I was to be photographed in my daisied raiment. The 
picture was to be developed and mounted, and put into his room to 
await his return. It was one of the quaint, romantic fancies that helped 
make him the nonpareil of lovers. 

My mother, a deft amateur photographer, posed me, arranged the 
lights, and “ caught” the picture without the loss of a minute, and the 
whole incident occupied less time than I have taken in the telling. It 
was, nevertheless, one more element of excitement in the happy agita- 


586 


MORE THAN KIN. 


tion of the forenoon, and, the carriage being announced immediately, 
I cauglit up my fan and carriage-cloak, and was actually at the door 
before the thought smote me that I had neither thanked nor said 
Good-by to my benefactors. 

I am clean daft, I believe I cried, running back to the sofa, 
and, neglectful of my fine feathers, sinking upon the carpet in a 
tumultuous huddle to embrace the occupant. You have turned my 
head, every one of you ! converted a well-behaved girl into a con- 
ceited, inhuman, graceless wretch ! But I do love you, and if I don’t 
tell you how glad and grateful I am, it is because I haven’t command 
of the whole dictionary !” 

She held me to her heart, — a fervent strain I can feel about me 
now. 

Don’s darling !” she whispered. And mine ! My dear, true- 
hearted daughter ! God bless you both !” 

Aloud she said, We or somebody else has taught you how to 
fib glibly. Bun away, now, and be as happy as you deserve to be for 
your loving-kindness for a creaking old machine like myself.” 

Rosalie followed me down-stairs to summon the coachman, who, by 
mistake, had driven to the side-door. She came back to me as I 
waited upon the piazza, put my cloak about me, and shook out the 
folds of my skirt with a sort of oflScious flurry unlike her usual man- 
ner, but this I did not remark at the time as peculiar. I had always 
been a pet with her, and what more natural than that she should mix 
herself up with my affairs ? 

You’ll outshine them all. Miss Sydney !” she twittered, with a 
nervous giggle. Don’t worry about Mrs. Upton, but enjoy yourself 
as much as any of them. We’ll take the best of care of her.’^ 

I know it, Rosalie. Otherwise, I should not leave her,” 1 
answered sincerely. 

She attended me to the carriage, and saw to it that my draperies 
were protected from the dust. As I thanked her, I glanced at the 
upper window, — the wide bay that swept so much sunshine into Mrs. 
Upton’s sitting-room. She stood within it, bathed and glorified by the 
flood of rays, smiling down at me. My mother’s taller head appeared 
above that encircled by a radiant nimbus where the rays shone through 
and glittered upon her hair. 

I fairly gasped with admiration. 

She is like a saint upon a church-window, only far more beautiful ! 
Tell her I said so, Rosalie, and that it was all I could do to keep from 
jumping out of the carriage and running up-stairs to say my prayers to 
her,” was my parting message. 

Fortunate, thrice-blessed woman that I was that bland, rich au- 
tumnal noon, which, I imagined, took me to its heart as had she whose 
birth-month and type this was. 

This was the motif of the music played by reason and feeling all 
the way down the elm-bordered street, across railway and past station, 
up the modern boulevard to the Wilcox mansion. Even the glimpse 
I had of Dr. Wentworth sitting in his coup6 at the station, chatting in 
his most agreeable manner to a rich New-Yorker who was waiting for 


MORE THAN KIN. 


587 


a train, could not dash the glow thrilling through my veins, the melody 
that filled heart and brain. If I had made the effort then and there, I 
think that I could have said that difficult clause of the Great Prayer 
I had found impossible some nights agone. I preferred to put the 
thought of my step-parent out of my mind with convenient speed, and 
accept as a good omen the circumstance that he had not seen me. 

It is not in self-contempt that I record how easy I found compli- 
ance with Rosalie’s parting admonition, or that I relished heartily 
approving looks and kindly comments such as warm-hearted women 
who like one another will pass upon personal appearance, in defiance 
of Social Usage manuals. When Kitty whispered that I was per- 
fectly lovely, and that she wished Don could see me,” I thought com- 
placently of the negative perhaps already on the way to New York for 
develo{)ment. I had heard Mrs. Upton say that it should go to-day, 
not to lose time. When Mrs. Robb impaled me across the table with 
the interviewer’s eye, I sat a trifle taller, and bore the operation with- 
out blenching. She could find no blemish in the chef-d^ceuvre of the 
two mothers, who were, I felt sure, chatting of me over knitting and 
crocheting, for whom I stored each incident and feature of the gay 
occasion. The best part of the day would be the rehearsal of the affair 
over the cosey evening meal I was confident we could coax my mother 
into sharing. The anticipation blunted the temporary annoyance of 
Mrs. Robb’s proximity. Kitty could not have foreseen that among her 
one-and-twenty guests she could have picked out no less acceptable 
vis-d-vis for me than the newspaper-woman, who must, when I came to 
consider the case, sit opposite to somebody. 

She was in great force to-day, soaring superior to the shabby gen- 
tility of an imitation black-lace gown, and a hat of the same net, with 
a bunch of red-and-purple flowers set perkily on top of it. 

‘^Scrabbled together by myself,” she informed a group of us. 

Look at it !” revolving upon one heel like a show-window dummy. 

Wouldn’t you swear that a French modiste had ‘ done’ me to the tune 
of thirty dollars for the rubbishy construction? It cost me exactly 
thirty cents for the frame. The rest of the materials I had by me in 
the house. I have been writing up ^ Millinery as a Fashionable Swin- 
dle,’ in The Ladies^ Corneff Cupboard., and have so incensed the craft 
from Nova Scotia to California against me that I don’t suppose one of 
them would set a stitch for me upon any terms.” 

^‘More enemies?” said a saucy auditor, in demure distress. By 
and by you will be boycotted into starvation and nudity.” 

I rather enjoy it !” retorted the newspaper-woman in all sincerity. 

Anything is preferable to the dead calm of respectability in which 
most women are content to exist. I stirred up my sister-in-law and 
other New York fashionables to pious profanity at a lunch last week 
by proving that if every woman in the Presbyterian Church, of which 
they are props and pillars, would deny herself one hat a year for five 
years to come, and give what it would have cost to the Foreign Missionary 
Board, the world would be converted in that time. I sent a sketch of 
my plan, entitled ‘ One Bonnet Less,’ to the New York Observer^ but it 
would not publish it. The editor wrote that he considered it ^ flippant 


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and frivolous, and suspected it to be a hoax/ These ultra-religious papers 
never print the other side of a question. The whole churchly system 
is lop-sided. It cants in a double sense.’^ 

She amused most of those present, and she was aware of it, but 
others like myself grew grave and slipped out of her neighborhood 
when she began to scoff at sacred things. Her sharp eyes noted our 
defection, and I paid the penalty for my offence when we were seated 
at the table. As a social fixture I could not budge, let her say what 
she would. 

She began with the first entree , — creamed lobster served au gratin 
in silver scallop-shells. I was eating mine in gladness and singleness 
of heart when she opened fire : 

saw that you resented my onslaught upon the Presbyterians, 
Miss Salisbury. I forgot when I spoke that your mother affected that 
persuasion during your own father’s lifetime, or I should have with- 
held my thrust until you were out of earshot. She has so fully iden- 
tified herself with her present spouse’s views and principles upon all 
subjects that the inadvertence is pardonable. His Episcopacy is, as we 
all know, pronounced and pervasive. I am told that his unction in 
responses and his obeisances to the high altar at certain passages in 
Creed, Gospels, and Gloria are a study in themselves, and have raised 
the price of the adjoining pews — or do you call them stalls? The 
High-Church jargon smacks of the stable.” 

You can hardly classify them as ^ dumb, driven cattle,’” returned 
I, carelessly, turning to my right-hand neighbor and beginning to speak 
of other things. 

I did not know Mrs. Tommy Robb if I hoped to shake her off by 
civil device. 

H’m ! that is rather patly said !” never removing the stare of her 
black eyes, and bearing perceptibly upon the first adverb. But your 
wit will never be as caustic as your mother’s. I have repeated the 
bon mot of the car off the track, with effect, at least a dozen times 
since you told me of it.” 

Don’t make a baker’s dozen of the repetitions, I beg, Mrs. Robb !” 
entreated I, penitently. I was heartily ashamed of my rudeness by 
the time the silly thing was said. Forgive and forget it !” 

She tossed her head with a dry laugh : 

Bless your unsophisticated soul ! Do you imagine that a veteran 
newspaper- worn an, the heroine of a hundred type- and tongue-battles, 
minds a pea from a child’s pop-gun, — and a ricochet shot at that? 
You are the dutiful echo of your mother, and she is Dr. Wentworth’s : 
so what you gave me was only the shadow of a shade. Your superb 
step-parent grows superber every day. I saw him at the station to- 
day, helping a pious-looking woman in black into his carriage. A 
country- cousin with a big bank-account, I suppose?” 

Probably,” I returned. ^^Such are plentiful in all climates.” 

‘‘He ordered the coachman to drive to Mrs. Upton’s,” continued 
the ubiquitous Terror, in the same clear, high key. “ You are staying 
there, I believe?” 

“ Not at this moment,” I was foolish enough to say. 


MORE THAN KJN. 


589 


Why do you try to bluff an old stager, infant? All Mapleton is 
cognizant of the fact that you are Mr. Donald Upton’s deputy, and in 
charge of his invalid mother. All Mapleton, too, — or so much of it 
as saw your progress through our streets to-day and is gathered about 
this festive board, — appreciates the compliment paid to your absent 
fiance by the demi-semi-douleur of your costume. You are, while he 
is away, a shadow-maiden, a symphony in gray and silver, the silver 
typifying hope of a speedy return. I never saw anything more chastely 
symbolical. I shall work it into a paragraph for the Springjield Sun- 
flower, to which I contribute a weekly society-article.” 

^^Come, come, Carry !” said Mrs. Wilcox from the head of the 
board. This is not fair or kind ! I told you that we would have no 
^ chiel amang us takin’ notes’ to-day.” 

I know that you said it. But you meant it as little as the rest 
of the world. Everybody understands that I represent The Press, and 
everybody would be disappointed if she did not see the luncheon, or 
dinner, or reception to which she invites me properly set forth in print 
within a reasonable time after it takes place. Kate never would forgive 
me if I left out one course, or overlooked such a rechercM toilette as 
that of her bosomest friend. If the truth were told, that is why you 
and I, Miss Salisbury, are set opposite to one another. To return to 
our muttons, — it must have been imperative business that called a model 
son like Mr. Donald three thousand miles away when his mother is, I 
hear, liable to die at any minute.” 

I felt my features pale and stiffen ; my hands dropped nervelessly 
into my lap. 

Shame on you. Carry Robb !” cried Kate, in generous anger. Why 
do you manufacture sensational stories? You have terrified the poor 
child out of her wits. I detest practical jokes, especially when they are 
utterly witless and without foundation. Don’t mind her, Sydney ! She 
is a pessimist of the blackest dye, and must growl over something.” 

I beg your pardon, I am sure, if I have touched a tender nerve,” 
resumed the newspaper-woman, her unwinking eyes riddling me 
through. hardly believed the rumor until now. That is one of 
the cleverest reportorial tricks I know, — to pretend to knowledge of 
something you are doubtful of. You all must recollect how I got a 
confession out of that wife-murderer at Jones’s Cross-Cut three years 
ago, when every other newspaper representative had failed. I sat 
down in front of him with tears in my eyes, and began talking with 
him of his old mother, without letting him suspect that I had ever so 
much as read a newspaper ” 

Returning strength enabled me to shut my ears to the rest. Upon 
reflection, I was more provoked with my weakness than with her disre- 
gard of social decency. My emotion had nearly betrayed what I was 
pledged to conceal. While it was not possible that she should know 
the exact truth, I had given her almost positive proof that there was 
something worth her knowing. I rallied my wits to engage in the talk 
going on on our side of the table when the revolting details of the 
confession were over. Helen Norris, who sat at my left, helped me by 
telling a funny story and appealing to me for confirmation ; I plucked 


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MORE THAN KIN 


up spirit to cap it by another which was received with general applause. 
My heart softened and warmed toward the acquaintances and intimates 
of years whose sympathies were manifestly with me. I was altogether 
at my best self by the time Roman punch was served in chased silver 
swans, which Mrs. Wilcox let us know, without any parade, were favors 
to be taken home with us. It was discovered, next, that upon the 
breast of each bird was a small scroll inscribed with the name of one 
of the party. They could be used for bonbonni^reSj or to hold flowers. 
I was looking at the engraved Sydney Salisbury^’ upon mine, and 
thinking how I would fill the cup let into the back of the swan with 
mignonette and set it upon Mrs. Upton’s table, when a servant paused 
behind me and accosted me by name : 

Miss Salisbury, excuse me, ma’am, but there is somebody in the 
hall who would like to see you.” 

I was not alarmed ; I was scarcely startled ; but, with the feeling 
that a summons sufiiciently important to be brought to me in the middle 
of a ceremonious feast was not to be slighted, I looked at Mrs. Wilcox. 
She was speaking to some one else, her head slightly turned aside, and 
I could not instantly win her attention. Mrs. Robb attracted it and 
the observation of the whole company by a ringing call. 

^‘Mrs. Wilcox! Miss Salisbury wants to be excused. She has 
been sent for.” 

Not sent for,” I retorted distinctly, and smiling without effort. 

But there is a message for me. Have I your permission to speak 
with the messenger ?” 

Certainly, my love. But do not let anything call you away,” I 
heard in leaving the room by the nearest door. 

Mrs. Upton’s confidential maid was just without it, my carriage- 
cloak in hand. She threw it about me. 

‘‘You are to come home. Miss Sydney. Mrs. Upton has been 
taken very ill.” 

As I sprang into the waiting carriage, I saw, as in the whirling fog 
of a dream, Mrs. Robb run down the walk to the gate and throw up 
her hand to a railway-hack that was rumbling along the street. 

“What is it, Rosalie?” I got breath and strength to ask as our 
fleet horses, urged to the top of their speed, sent houses and trees flying 
behind us. 

The hard red of her cheeks was changed to tawny gray, and she 
had not spoken beyond those first hurried words. She answered with- 
out looking at me : 

“ Some sort of a fainting-fit, I believe. Miss Sydney.” 

“ Ah — h !” Flutter of pulse and spirits was quelled. I knew so 
much better than she how little real peril lay in the seizure that had 
scared her. “ I have seen her in such, more than once. They are 
only hysterical. Very distressing, but not dangerous. Nobody dies 
from hysteria. But I am glad you came for me. My mother sent 
you, I suppose?” 

“No, Miss Sydney: it was Dr. Wentworth,” in the same queer, 
muffled voice, her eyes turned out of the window on her side of the 
carriage. 


MORE THAN KIN. 


591 


That was singular. Dr. Wentworth understood the nature of the 
attack ; and even if it were more serious than common, he and my 
mother ought to be competent to the management of it. 

I should know all in another half-minute. We were turning the 
last corner. Two physicians^ carriages — neither of them Dr. Went- 
worth^s — were at the door. An awful constriction of the heart, such 
as I had never felt, seized me. Before the horses stood still I dashed 
open the carriage door and flew into the house. The front door was 
shut, and I ran around to the long window of the library. It was not 
fastened. As I threw it wide, the powerful scent of chloroform smote 
me. In the hall, and on the back-stairs up which I sped as the nearest 
way to that upper chamber, it was almost suffocating. Two men 
blocked the narrow passage connecting the back and front halls. Their 
backs were toward me, their heads close together. They were talking 
in suppressed tones. What they said chained my flying feet to the 
floor. 

Wentworth declares that he took upon trust the opinion of his wife, 
backed by Barker; that he never examined her heart for himself, 
although his wife had made more than one auscultation and pronounced 
it all right. To one in Mrs. Upton^s condition, chloroform was sure 

death, as even Dr. Wentworth might have known, if 

I grasped his arm with both hands, and shook it in the frenzied 
endeavor to articulate. It was Dr. Gibney, the oldest physician in 
Mapleton. His companion was Dr. Marvin, a much younger man. 

My dear young lady, compose yourself,^^ said the latter. 

Dr. Gibney detained me, as I tried to rush by him to see for myself 
what my voice refused to inquire into. 

Let me take you to your room, Sydney, child. It is best that 

you should not go into that one. Wait, my dear, until 

I tore myself loose from his hold. The forbidden door was locked 
on the inside. I beat upon it with my fists, and a woman, a stranger 
to me, opened it, interposing her person to bar my entrance. I pushed 
her aside. 

The horrible odor of chloroform was strongest here in her bed- 
chamber. A lounge I had never seen before was in the middle of the 
floor. Half kneeling, half prostrate beside it, was my mother, her face 
buried in the counterpane. Upon the other side stood Dr. Wentworth, 
ghastly white. Between them was a motionless figure. The head 
drooped toward the right shoulder, bringing the face full into view. 

It was Don^s mother, and these three people had killed her ! 


CHAPTER VI. 

The merciful numbness of insensibility was denied me in that 
supreme hour of agony. It was also decreed that to my brain should 
be given preternatural steadiness, to every sense acuteness that let not 
one detail of the calamity pass without note. Not for one second was 
I permitted to imagine the horrors hemming me in, vagaries of a wan- 
dering mind, or parts of a nightmare from which I must awaken 


592 


MORE THAN KIN. 


presently, or go mad. I had no hope of insanity. Science from all 
her stores oftered nothing that could blunt memory or purchase immu- 
nity from anguished anticipation. 

The sight of the marbled face, as white now as the hair above it, 
the fixed sweetness of a smile that could never be for me again, the 
veiled eyes, beamless for all time, turned me to breathing stone. The 
mind was alert under the frozen mask, and the heart conned ceaselessly 
the lesson of what humanity can endure. 

Nor has time made misty the keen outlines or confused the sequence 
of what followed my impetuous burst into the silent room. My mother 
shuddered at my one sharp cry, but did not rise or lift her head. Dr. 
Wentworth came around the foot of the lounge toward me, hands out- 
spread to catch me should I swoon. My gesture stopped him. 

Don’t come near me !” I said. You” — to the strange woman 
— ‘‘are the nurse, I suppose? How was this thing done? Oh,” — as 
she glanced inquiringly at my step-father, — “ I know who did it. I 
must hear just how it happened. If you cannot speak here, come to 
my room.” 

“ My dear girl ” began Dr. W ent worth. 

“ Not a word !” I interposed. 

With my eye upon him, he could not so much as give his tool a 
mute signal. I put her out of the chamber before me, drove her 
straight to my room. Both doctors followed me out of the back hall. 
Having seen the nurse inside of my door, I faced them. 

“What is it?” 

Dr. Gibney stepped forward. 

“ Your father was my friend, my child. For his sake, let me 
entreat you to take care of yourself. You are in a highly-excited 
state ” 

“ Abnormal and irresponsible,” murmured Dr. Marvin. 

“ Let me prepare something for you,” pursued Dr. Gibney. “ By 
and by, when you are well and calm ” 

“ I am perfectly well and perfectly calm,” I rejoined. “ Should I 
need sedatives, I will apply to you.” 

I shut them out. The professional nurse, in whom I recognized 
the “country cousin in black” Mrs. Robb had seen Dr. Wentworth 
handing into his carriage, stood upright a little way within the room, 
rather nervous, and disposed to be offended. I turned the key in the 
lock and set a chair for her. Her cold, hard eyes did not release me 
while she took it. She had the air of one who had managed maniacs 
before to-day. 

“Now,” I said, “tell me what has been done in this house from 
the moment you entered it until now.” 

She demurred, but I would not let her off. Finally, either be- 
cause she was afraid of me, or because she pitied me, she told a toler- 
ably coherent story. 

Dr. Wentworth had engaged her a week ago to be on hand to-day. 
She was aware what services would be expected of her, and that “ the 
affair” was to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. She had known 
Dr. Wentworth for years, and been with him in other surgical cases, 


MORE THAN KIN. 


593 


like and unlike this. On the way from the station he told her that 
everything was ready for the operation ; that he and his wife (of whom 
she had heard as Dr. Charlotte Salisbury) were, by the earnest wish of 
the subject, to be unassisted except by herself ; that Mrs. Wentworth’s 
daughter was engaged to Mrs. Upton’s son, and staying in the house 
during his absence. She — the young lady — was easily excited and had 
very little self-control 

‘^You -asked me to tell you everything, Miss Salisbury,” she 
interrupted herself to say here. 

“ Go on,” I replied. 

“ So, Mrs. Upton and the young lady’s mother had managed to 
send her off to a luncheon to keep her out of the way while the opera- 
tion was going on. The subject had set her heart upon sparing her 
young friend as far as she could. Mrs. Upton said almost the same 
thing in my hearing. ^ How surprised and relieved the dear child 
will be when she gets back to find that it is all over !’ she said to Mrs. 
Dr. Wentworth when we were getting her ready. 

I never saw a calmer patient. She chatted cheerfully up to the 
last. Mrs. Dr. Wentworth was a great deal more agitated. Dr. Went- 
worth spoke to her privately, out of the subject’s hearing, about her 
want of self-control. 

‘ You’ll bring on the very thing you are afraid of,’ says he, ^ if 
you don’t get yourself better in hand.’ 

I’m sure, as I told the other doctors, if I’d had the least idea that 
there was any heart-complication I’d have lifted up my voice against 
the chloroform. As it was, I supposed they two knew what they were 
about. In fact, ’twas irregular their giving it while I was out of the 
room, having just stepped across the hall to get a clean handkerchief 
out of my valise, and not being able to lay my hand at once upon one, 
my sister having packed my bag.” 

‘‘ You were not with her at the last, then ?” 

^‘Well, I was and I wasn’t, as you may say. I’d asked Dr. 
Wentworth on the way from the station if he meant to give chloroform, 
and he said there had been some doubt on the subject. The patient 
was willing to be operated upon without it if ’twas thought advisable, 
but he didn’t see the use of subjecting her to an unnecessary nervous 
shock. In his opinion, when a subject had to bear such intense pain 
without the help of anaesthetics, ’twas more likely to prove fatal than 
the effect of chloroform, to say nothing of making the surgeon’s work 
harder. He had thought sometimes that he’d always refuse to under- 
take an operation in such circumstances, and he mentioned a case 
where the subject’s screams were heard all over the neighborhood. He 
hadn’t such faith in the stories scary people tell of the evil effects of 
chloroform in certain cases. If it was properly administered, the 
danger was nothing. In unskilful hands ’twas different, of course. 
And I said how I’d stood over many a one by the hour, holding a 
sponge or napkin to the nose, and taking it away as the doctors 
motioned me to do, and never a bit of harm done. And what was the 
matter in giving it in this case? So he said I had expressed his views 
exactly, and that Mrs. Upton was sound enough in her general health, 


594 


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but had been subject to hysterical fainting-fits lately, as was only 
natural in the circumstances, I am sure. 

So, I can^t say that I was surprised when I began to smell 
chloroform while I was still a-rummaging for the handkerchief. And, 
thinks I, HheyVe decided upon it, and to lose no time,^ thinks I, ^and 
Vd better be getting back in a hurry,’ though it did seem to me 
’twasn’t quite respectful to me as a trained nurse, nor customary with 
the profession, to administer while I was out of the room. But they’d 
spoken of the need of promptness, and I will say for myself that I’m 
not apt to take offence. Some trained ones I could speak of, and 
whose references ain’t near so good as mine, would have shouldered 
their bag and marched out of the house in the circumstances. But, 
finding the handkerchiefs, I grabbed one and ran back. When I got 
to the door I heard a kind of bustle inside, and Mrs. Dr. Wentworth 
she called out sharp-like, ^ My God, Raymond ! see what I’ve done !’ 
or something like that. Before I’d gone out we’d fixed the patient on 
an operating-lounge, you know, drawn into the middle of the room. 
’Twas brought from the attic after I came. As soon as I laid eyes 
upon her now, I saw that something had gone wrong. The bottle of 
chloroform had been thrown or dropped on the floor, and was broken. 
Mrs. Dr. Wentworth had raised the poor lady’s head upon her arm 
and was fanning her, and the doctor was running about the room, 
throwing up the windows like a distracted man. And the poor thing 
was dying ! 

At first none of us could believe it. We got two other doctors 
in next to no time. The coachman happened to see their carriages at 
another house up the street, and rushed right out for them. Every- 
thing was done to bring her to, but ’twas no use. She was gone in 
fifteen minutes after the doctors got here. All of us agree that there 
was heart-disease, and she was far gone in it, but it’s unaccountable 
that Dr. Wentworth shouldn’t have guessed that she had it. From 
what I can make out, he’d great confidence in his wife’s judgment, and 
she’d auscultated, and couldn’t seem to find anything out of the way. 
I never saw anybody worse cut up than Dr. Wentworth, and I over- 
heard the other doctors going over him hot and heavy in the other 
room about being so secret about it and depending upon a woman’s 
diagnosis.’ ’Twas Dr. Marvin said that. Dr. Gibney spoke up for her, 
and Dr. Wentworth told how Dr. Barker had backed her opinion, and 
then they changed their tone and said there’d be no trouble about 
giving a certificate of cause of death, and all that. 

After all, it must have been the will of Providence ” 

I raised my hand. 

‘^That will do. You have nothing more to tell me? Did Mrs. 
Upton speak after taking the chloroform ?” 

Not a word that I heard. She must have sunk into a stupor 
before she had inhaled a dozen whiffs.” 

The final question pulled hard upon my factitious strength, but I 
put it unfalteringly : 

Who gave the chloroform ?” 

Mrs. Dr. Wentworth.” 


MORE THAN KIN. 


595 


Are you positive of that 

In her zeal for her chief^s interests, she seemed to forget that the 
other party to the transaction was my mother. 

Positive ! didn’t I see it all with my own eyes, as they told you ? 
The soaked handkerchief dropped out of her lap after I got in. And 
I told you what she said. Dr. Wentworth wasn’t near enough to the 
patient to have done it. Oh, there’s no doubt as to who gave it. But 
that’s neither here nor there. If I hadn’t happened to be out of the 
way at the minute, I should have been ordered to administer, most 
likely, but the responsibility wouldn’t have been mine. I hope, my 
dear Miss Salisbury, that you won’t lay this dispensation to heart. Let 
me bring you something composing, and undress you and put you to 
bed, and try not to think of what can’t be helped now, — there’s a dear.” 

You can go now,” I said, coldly. I do not need you, and 
others may.” 

She hesitated, looking curiously at me. 

I shall not need you again,” I added. And there is probably 
something to do elsewhere. Go to Dr. Wentworth for orders. He is 
your employer.” 

I unlocked the door and held it ajar for her to pass out, which she 
did with a toss of her head and fling of her whole body. I shot the 
bolt again, and sat down in the chair she had occupied. Right before 
me was the lounge upon which Don’s mother had lain scarcely three 
hours ago, watching my toilette. The slumber-robe then cast about 
her was huddled into a heap upon the foot of the lounge, as she had 
left it on rising hastily to go into the front room and wave a farewell 
to me from the bay-window. 

She was in the conspiracy to deceive me. No one had joined more 
cordially in the plot, entered more zestfully into the details of what I 
saw had been preconcerted from the beginning. She may have ac- 
quiesced in my step-father’s dictum that I lacked the power of con- 
trolling myself and was therefore best out of the way. I did not 
believe it. Her loving wiles for my delusion were of the same strain 
with those that were to keep her son in ignorance of her condition. 
Her thought and design were to avoid inflicting a single pang that 
could be warded off*. Her last thought was of this pious purpose. She 
had died as she had lived. Not for the fraction of a second did I 
harbor one emotion of resentment toward one who had exchanged 
earthly for heavenly angelhood. 

And between them they had murdered her ! 

I had not needed to put the question it cost me an effort to articu- 
late. I knew for myself who was the more culpable of the pair to 
whom she owed a violent death. Whatever may have been Dr. Went- 
worth’s opinion as to the presence of cardiac disease in his patient, his 
wife was fully aware of it. This fact was the key to the dialogue I 
had overheard from the library. Although not the tender-hearted man 
his clients reported him, he was physically and morally a coward. I 
had heard him deplore, times without number, the sensitive, sym- 
pathetic organization that made him a participant in whatever suflPering 
he saw. He had declared to his wife that he would have nothing to do 


596 


MORE THAN KIN. 


with the projected operation unless he were allowed to conduct it in his 
own way. 

If you are bent upon murdering your friend, you must choose 
some other confederate. Dr. Barker may not be so scrupulous as your 
husband/^ were words that bore fell significance in the light of the 
catastrophe consequent upon indulgence of his will. The confederate 
protested vainly. The imperative summons to^the scene of what he 
diagnosed as an hysterical seizure was argument in visible form. As 
such he understood and resented it. Her keener senses had detected 
indications he could not or would not perceive ; as the abler physician 
of the two, she had set before him in formidable array facts he must 
dispute or respect. Without startling Mrs. Upton by betraying the 
trend of her fears, she had brought her to express a willingness to submit 
to the knife unsupported by anaesthetics, if it were deemed necessary 
that this should be. Professional conscience had fought a good fight ; 
friendship had made a worthy stand ; humanity had endured valiantly. 
Wifehood had prevailed over them all. Cognizant of the risk she ran, 
as her weaker colleague was not, she had taken it. The infatuation 
that dominated her being did not stop at passive obedience to the 
tyrant’s will. With her own hand she had carried his design into 
effect. She knew his taunt of her intent to murder her friend, by im- 
posing upon her nervous system a heavier strain than it could support, 
to be as empty as the breath that bore it. Rather than receive another 
wound in her own breast, she had stultified herself, been false to her 
womanhood and her professional vows, and made the implied accusation 
positive and true. 

I reasoned it all out, without the omission of a step in the process, 
proving each position, over and over, resolute will warring against 
heart and nature. The end was ever the same. The early twilight 
descended upon me seated opposite the empty lounge, with the slumber- 
robe heaped together upon the foot, and before my mental vision a 
verdict stamped in letters of blood. 

Don Upton^s mother had met her death at the hands of my mother. 
No plea of ignorance or haste on the part of the criminal recommended 
her to mercy. 

I measured the horror as I might a belching volcano suddenly up- 
heaved out of a smiling plain. This, my first great grief, was such as 
had never befallen another woman. Yet the sense of orphanage, and 
by such means, was subordinated for the time by indignation and pity 
that seemed infinite. In the course of time I should bethink myself 
of what the personal bereavement comprehended. Now, imagination 
was busy with such contrasts as the animated face that had laughed at 
me from the lounge that noon, and the clay mould left by the spirit 
upon that other lounge across the hall; the vision of Don as he had 
kissed his mother Good-by” at the station, and commended her anew 
to me, and the wild agony of the eyes that would, ere long, demand 
account of my stewardship. 

Into the awful solitude of hours that robbed me of my youth had 
come interruptions from without. 

First it was the acidulated whine of the hired nurse : 


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Miss Salisbury, here is a cup of tea for you. It will do you 
good/^ 

I do not want it/^ 

Your mamma is very ill, Miss Salisbury. She’s going from one 
faint into another. The doctors are uneasy about her, and think it may 
do her good to see you. Will you come, please, right away?” 

No,” I said, as dryly and dispassionately as before. You will 
oblige me by not disturbing me again.” 

I had heard another tread with hers in the hall, one that I knew. 
If my place were at the side of his suffering wife, surely Dr. Went- 
worth should not absent himself. 

A while later he trod boldly down the hall ; struck with his august 
knuckles upon the panels. 

Sydney !” in persuasive accents, I must speak with you, my 
child. It is not right for you to seclude yourself in this season of our 
common sorrow. Will you come to your mother? She needs you, my 
dear.” 

The Sydney Salisbury into which he and his confederate had con- 
verted a warm-hearted, trustful girl neither moved nor spoke. If 
heavier bolts and bars had been at hand, they would have shut him out 
yet more effectually. 

I hope,” he resumed, after a pregnant pause, and judicially, 
that you will not compel us at a time like this to break open the door 
in order to induce you to listen to reason.” 

You dare not !” I said, without stirring. 

The hall was silent again. 

He had, of course, telegraphed to Don. Doubtless, too, he had 
performed the friendly duty in conventionally Christian fashion, send- 
ing one despatch to say that his mother was extremely ill, and half an 
hour later a second announcing the truth. Don would travel night 
and day to reach home. There would be none to welcome him with 
tearful embrace. We were his nearest and dearest, now that his mother 
was gone. He could never touch hand or lip of ours again. 

His mother had died by my mother’s hand. 

I was back at that again. Reasoning around in a circle, I must 
find my way to that one point. It was strange that I did not weep, 
when I knew it all so well. My heart was a hot stone that burned and 
did not crumble, a heavy coal I must carry about with me for ever- 
more. Since I had sat there the mantel-clock had chimed three, four, 
five o’clock. Out of the window, which was in line with me, I could 
see the white steeple, the tapering point melting into the sky. It was a 
faint pink line against a darkening background in the reflected glow of 
the west, and my miserable eyes watched listlessly to see it merge into 
twilight dusks, when my ear caught a sound like a stifled sob outside 
of the door. A minute later I heard another, and then another. 
Broken and low as was the weeping, I divined who waited without, 
and drew back the bolts. My little sister drifted, rather than fell, into 
my arms. The fading light from the windows revealed a visage so 
changed and wild that I could not restrain an exclamation of dismay. 

Elsie, darling ! You ought not to be here.” 

Yol. L.— 38 


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She clung to me convulsively, shivering and sobbing, unable to 
speak. Raising her as if she were a baby, I laid her upon my bed. 
With the pressure of her heaving breast against mine, the thought 
thrilled through me that was to become but too sadly familiar in the 
days to come. This fairy-like creature, smaller and wiser than her 
years warrantee!, was all Fate had left to me, who at the rising of the 
sun that had just set reckoned myself the happiest and richest of 
women. Elsie was flesh of my flesh, vein of my vein. They should 
not rob me of her. I would die first. 

I held her closer, as unchildish moans told of violence done to the 
tender heart and sensitive nerves. 

My baby ! who was so thoughtless as to let you come to this house 
just at this time?’^ 

She seized the hand that stroked her tear-stained face, and covered 
it with passionate caresses. The racking sobs shook her in every limb. 

Poor Sydney she said, between them. And poor, poor Don ! 
Oh, sister ! how can God let such things happen 

I buried my dry, aching eyes in her pillow. The shower of tears 
and kisses upon my face, neck, and hands was like spring rains upon 
arid sand. Fire had fallen upon me out of heaven and dried up the 
fountain of weeping. I sat up and looked drearily into the wet, loving 
eyes. 

I wish I could cry I said. It might ease this terrible pain at 
my heart. I shall never cry again, I think.^^ 

The child nestled herself into my bosom, her hands meeting behind 
my neck. 

If mamma were not so ill, I would go for her. She helps every- 
body. But she is not to be disturbed. We must love her better than 
ever, now, Sydney. Next to you and Don she will suffer most. Dear 
mamma 

Involuntarily I drew away from the artless pleader. She need 
never know what had broken my heart and made the thought of 
meeting my mother and her husband intolerable. I could not echo 
her fond plaint, but that this was impossible was horrible in itself. 

As one whom his mother comforteth^^ must henceforward be a mockery 
of something once inexpressibly dear and beautiful. 

Elsie did not observe, or she misinterpreted, my gesture, for she got 
hold of one of my hands, and, fitting her cheek into the palm, lay, 
seemingly content, her great eyes deepening and calming under the 
sense of loving companionship. 

^‘It has been dreadful all the afternoon, ^\she said, at last. ^‘I 
could not get to you or mamma ; I could not bear to leave both of 
you here. I tried not to be in the way, yet it was fearful to be alone. 
A great many people called. I was in the library when you ran 
through and up the back stairs, but you did not see me. When I was 
a little over my fright I would have run after you, but Mrs. Robb 
stopped me. She wanted to see papa, or mamma, or the nurse, or one 
of the doctors, directly, she said. So I told Dr. Gibney, and he went 
down to her. She stayed a long time, and talked to almost everybody, 
but I kept out of her way. Papa wouldn’t see her, and mamma was 


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599 


too ill, of course. Mrs. Robb told the nurse that she was ^ taking on 
airs’ when she wouldn’t let her go into Mrs. Upton’s room and said 
that you would not see any one. Mrs. Robb is a very singular person, 
Sydney. Dr. Marvin said to Dr. Gibney, after she had gone, that she 
was the cleverest woman in town, and full of newspaper enterprise. 
And Dr. Gibney said she was a meddling magpie. She asked the 
servants all sorts of questions, and I am afraid she thought Rosalie 
impertinent because she answered her shortly. It was a great relief 
when she went away.” 

It was such a solace to the child to unbosom herself to me that I 
could not check her, although my heart bled, drop by drop, as I 
listened. 

You are not angry because I came to you, are you?” she queried 
timidly, at my continued silence. 

“ No, love ! It is a comfort to me to have you here.” 

She turned her lips to the pillowing palm. 

Papa said I’d better not go near you ; that you wanted to be alone. 
But I got so anxious that I couldn’t stay away. I feel safer where you 
are. If I could only help you ever so little, Sydney ! I know nothing 
can put things back where they were this morning.” 

Her voice trembled, but she struggled bravely with the returning 
wave. I was used to caring for her. I must do it now. 

Elsie,” I said, kindly yet firmly, we must never again speak 
— even to one another — of what has happened here to-day. Talking 
it over can do nobody any good, and may do harm. Nothing any 
human being can say or do will lighten the load I must carry for the 
rest of my life. Love me all the same, little one, — more, if you can ! 
You are the only thing that really belongs to me, and you won’t make 
this awful trouble heavier by forcing me to speak of it.” 

She obeyed me to the letter, as I was sure she would. While the 
innocent gravity of face and tone testified to her sympathy with my 
grief, she forbore, thenceforward, to comment or to question. 

Rosalie, without waiting for orders, brought up a supper-tray and 
lighted the gas. Elsie slipped away while the maid was arranging on 
a stand what she had prepared for our meal. I surmised correctly that 
the child had gone to see how our mother was, and, in her absence, 
asked Rosalie who was in the house. 

Nobody, Miss Sydney, but you, Miss Elsie, the nurse. Miss West, 
and the servants. Mrs. Wentworth thought it best that the house 
should be cleared and quiet, and I am sure that would have been my 
dear mistress’s wish. Dr. and Mrs. Wentworth went away about six 
o’clock. She told me that Miss Elsie could stay all night, if you 
wished it. Her things will be sent over before bedtime. Mrs. Went- 
worth was quite calm, but she looked like one struck by death herself, 
and no wonder.” 

She folded up the slumber-robe while she talked, and I could not 
but note that she handled it reverently and laid it away in a drawer 
as precious. My silence did not restrain the overflow of the full heart. 

I can’t bring myself to realize it all. Miss Sydney. And I have 
been driven crazy all the afternoon by the run of visitors and questions. 


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Everybody insisted upon seeing Dr. Wentworth, and some were angry 
at his excusing himself. What else could the poor, dear gentleman do 
in the circumstances? The hardest heart would have melted to see 
his face and hear him speak, and how he stayed by Mrs. Wentworth, 
and did everything for her with his own hands. No woman could have 
been gentler. It’s plain to be seen he’s fairly crushed by what’s hap- 
pened. Yet, as I made bold to say to Mrs. Robb, who wouldn’t be 
put off for ever so long, and said some disagreeable things, the like 
has happened over and over before, and nobody blamed. Why, a lady 
I knew of died (and the doctor holding her pulse) in a dentist’s chair. 
And everybody who knows Dr. and Mrs. Wentworth understands that 
either of them would have laid down their own lives sooner than harm 
a hair of the head of such a friend as Mrs. Upton. ’Twas just one of 
the terrible things* that nothing could have prevented. It’s lost me a 
good place and the best friend I had in the world.” 

It annoyed me that she wiped her eyes — which were really wet — 
with her starched apron, and that while rehearsing the particulars of her 
loss she looked at a blur upon a spoon and polished it away with a 
napkin. I ought not to notice these trifles, but they obtruded them- 
selves upon me with fretting pertinacity. 

Elsie said nothing of the arrangements made for the night when 
she returned. She was probably at a loss what subjects were safe, for 
she was silent during the supper each pretended, for the other’s sake, 
to eat. Taken all in all, the evening was the dreariest I ever passed. 
There was literally nothing for us to do when Rosalie was dismissed 
for the night. I have understood ever since why it is the accepted 
fashion with women of a certain stamp to go to bed when in afflic- 
tion,” and even receive calls of condolence there. Too wretched to 
speak, yet overrun by trooping fancies that kept my nerves tense, I sat 
in the arm-chair Elsie wheeled forward for me, eyes so sore and dry by 
now that the lids would not move over them, gazing at nothing, but 
thinking ! thinking ! thinking ! — always around in the same circle of 
lurid fire. Elsie, crouched upon a cushion at my feet, her head on 
my knee, was so still and for so long that I believed her asleep until at 
the stroke of nine she raised herself. 

That is my bedtime, Sydney.” 

Yes, dear. I was about to speak of it. You would be better 
off in bed, even if you do not sleep.” 

^^I do not like to leave you alone,” — all the premature woman- 
liness in her eloquent through her wistful regards. 

I reminded her that she would not leave the room, and watched 
her idly while she made ready for slumber. As she brushed out her 
hair, reddish lights ran over the chestnut waves, and her feet peeped 
out, small and white, beneath her gown. I told her to slip them into 
my bedside slippers, hers having been forgotten by the maid who 
brought her bag. Mine were too large for her, and she lost first one, 
then the other, in crossing the floor. She smiled the second time this 
happened. 

Ah, well ! she was but eleven years old. A child’s horror and 
distressful sympathy are but ephemeral. I wondered how it would 


MORE THAN KIN. 001 

feel for me to smile again spontaneously and gleefully. The inclination 
would be stranger than the act. 

Elsie took a longer time than usual for her prayers. The certainty 
that she remembered me at length in her guileless petitions irked me. 
The sense of the uselessness of suing heaven to console one for whom 
all means of consolation were lost tempted me to rank atheism. She 
probably had no difSculty in repeating from the heart the petition I 
would not say seven nights ago. What had I to forgive at her age? 
I knew not so much as the meaning of trespasses.^^ 

Your lips are cold, and your hands ventured Elsie, in tender 
solicitude, after kissing me. Won^t you come to bed soon?’^ 

By and by, darling, — when I feel sleepy.^’ 

She lingered beside me, her head on my shoulder. The tips of her 
fingers glided lightly over the embroidery of my corsage. 

What a lovely, lovely gown escaped her involuntarily. 

Until that instant I had not thought of it since I arose from the 
lunch-table. I glanced down at it loathingly, and Mrs. Robb’s cynical 
jest returned to me : 

Demi-semi-douleur. A symphony in gray and silver.” 

I started up, setting the child aside, almost roughly; raised the 
window, and leaned out, that the cool breath of the night might blow 
upon my burning head. From a desolated earth I looked up into the 
vast dumb hollow of the heavens. Somewhere in illimitable space 
floated the disembodied spirit. Even in heaven she must pity me. 
But heaven was too far away to be reached by my torn and trailing 
thoughts. 

Somewhere, thousands of miles away, the son to whom the mother 
had, from his babyhood up, been the first of created things, mused 
fondly and hopefully of speedy reunion, or, horror-stricken, was hasten- 
ing homeward to get, if possible, one last look at her dead face. 

The chasm dividing me from the bodiless friend was no wider or 
deeper than the gulf which must ever part me from my living lover. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The professional nurse. Miss West, met me next morning with the 
official hope that I had had a refreshing night’s rest.” 

Elsie had refrained from asking me how I had passed the dark 
hours. The child’s tact was like cooling lint upon a raw surface. I 
was up and dressed when she awoke, and she remarked neither upon 
this nor upon my expressed intention of going down to breakfast with 
her. But for the grave taciturnity that had superseded her accustomed 
cheerful chat, she might have seemed forgetful of yesterday’s tragedy. 
I learned long afterward that she had gone down-stairs to the breakfast- 
room and suggested to the butler that no chair be set at the head of 
the table, and that the usual arrangement of the tea-equipage be modi- 
fied so as to make the significant gap less obvious. 

Tray and urn were at the side of the board, and Miss West sat 
behind them, an open newspaper spread over cups and saucers. Her 


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eyes were dilated and eager ; she stayed not to hear the answer to her 
perfunctory query, liad I meditated one. 

It will be a shock, of course, my dear Miss Salisbury, and you in 

no condition to receive any more shocks ; but since you must see it, 

and some evil-tempered person will be sure to rush up to you with 
it '' 

Let me have it I held out my hand. 

You won’t let it prey upon your spirits, will you,- now? It’s 
awful the influence newspapers have, and how it is abused ” 

I was beyond her moralizings, having carried off the paper to a 
window. 

The story of yesterday was told three times. First, and briefly, in 
head-lines of varying and seductive proportions, to whet the appetite. 
Not an element of the tragic was omitted ; nothing that could shock 
sensibility and set at naught every delicate instinct, violate the inner- 
most privacy of home and heart, and pander to the pruriency of vulgar 
curiosity, was forgotten by the social scavenger bracketed as our 
special correspondent.” 

I — any person of clean tastes and self-respect — ought to have 
despised the garbage garnished into a dainty dish to set before the 
kings and queens of the break fast- table. There are those who claim to 
be proof against the vitriolic douche. In the abstract their boast 
might have been mine, particularly as the identity of ‘^our special 
correspondent” with our venomous neighbor was fully known to me 
before I had read a word. In reality every head-line and sub-title 
raised a blister ; the effect of the whole which I was drawn on to read 
to the last word was the action of caustic acid upon flayed flesh. After 
the lapse of the years that give perspective to my autobiographical 
sketch, I cringe and cower in recalling the strange and harrowing 
sensation of seeing that which I could not have divulged to any creature 
of mortal mould paraded in bald type; the guarded chambers of 
imagery unroofed and gutted, and the spoils thereof vended in the 
market-place. 

I cannot write the tale as the newspaper-woman set it forth. 
But the worst was there, and made doubly superlative by the supple 
pen. 

The cowardly technicalities it is said” and we are told” were 
the shields for such declarations as that the cardiac affection under 
which the unfortunate lady had labored was no secret to many of her 
acquaintances. That the Drs. Wentworth acted as if ignorant of the 
fatal complication is a criminal mystery which an enlightened and 
humane public will not condone without other explanation than that 
which the wedded pair are disposed to supply. Shrewd residents of 
Mapleton already couple with this latest action of the masculine mem- 
ber of the firm another as rash, which nearly resulted fatally for his 
youngest step-daughter a few days ago.” 

A highly-colored account of the incident at the station followed, in 
which was introduced the circumstance of my separate fortune and 
Elsie’s dependence upon her mother. 

‘‘In the event of the child’s death, the handsome doctor would 


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603 


become sole heir of the wife whose devotion to him approximates, if it 
does not exceed, infatuation that is notorious. She is his senior by 
perhaps fifteen years, and, although his superior in intellect and educa- 
tion, invariably defers to his judgment. Herein, say the initiated, is 
the cause of the tragedy that has shocked the community. It is an 
established fact that Mrs. Dr. Wentworth — or Dr. Salisbury- Wentworth, 
as she prefers to be styled in reminiscence of the deserved eminence of 
her first husband — made more than one auscultation in Mrs. Upton^s 
case. It is as certain, unless the fame of her skill be a lie, that she 
must have been fully aware of what the autopsy that should be de- 
manded by public opinion will show, — Le,, that the hapless lady was not 
a fit subject for the administration of ether or chloroform. The evidence 
of the professional nurse in attendance proves that the saturated napkin 
held to mouth and nostrils by Dr. Salisbury-Wentworth killed the 
patient as surely and well-nigh as quickly as if it had been a loaded 
pistol with a finger upon the trigger.” 

My betrothal to the son of the deceased was made a telling feature 
of the article; my presence at the ^‘splendid luncheon (of which a 
detailed account appears in our society columns) given by Mrs. Rossiter 
Wilcox in honor of her daughter’s engagement” was treated dramatically 
and unsparingly. ^^It was expedient, no doubt, that a young lady 
whose excitable temperament is well known to her intimates should be 
banished from an operating-room ; but that she should select the hour 
of supremest anguish and peril to the mother of her betrothed, and go 
straight from the house over which the death-shadow was impending 
to a scene of revelry, her face shaded by no graver emotion than 
anxiety to keep her rechei'che costume unspotted from cream, wine, and 
gravy, is, to say the least, a remarkable development of the girl of the 
period. The news of the terrible casualty was conveyed to the fair 
and philosophic reveller between the sixth and seventh courses of the 
feast. With the perfect aplomb that characterizes the true American 
patrician, she requested permission from the hostess to absent herself 
‘ for a little while,’ and departed in such good form that the enter- 
tainment was not marred by uneasiness on the part of those who re- 
mained. 

Her relations to Mr. Donald Upton, who is now absent in Cali- 
fornia, threaten, in the mysterious circumstances connected with his 
mother’s death, to assume a romantic aspect of more than melodramatic 
intensity.” 

Cuts purporting to be portraits of all the parties concerned in the 
^‘shocking affair” illustrated the three columns given up by the edi- 
torial staff to an event of importance in society and scientific circles.” 
I may add here that the originals, which had been abstracted from an 
album in Mrs. Upton’s library, were returned in good order some days 
thereafter, accompanied by Mrs. Thomas Robb’s card. 

In those three columns of nonpareil type. The Clarion, mighty, im- 
personal, and irresponsible, cited, testified, argued, convicted and sen- 
tenced a household that, up to yesterday noon, had maintained a repu- 
tation for respectability and benevolence. In the hour of a woe that 
seemed to lack no element of anguish, the denial to the tormented ones 


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of the sad, sweet drops of human sympathy that might have wetted 
their parched tongues was ostentatious and gratuitous. To the outside 
world, until now ignorant of our existence, we were held up as mon- 
sters of ingratitude and cruelty. Whatever of moderate palliation of 
the enormity of our sin might be admitted to the incorruptible pages 
in days to come, journalistic policy and precedent would exclude from 
The Clarion refutal of the charges printed upon the evidence of a single 
flippant, bad-tempered woman. 

I folded the paper and put it, in mechanical and unconscious satire, 
under the family Bible that lay upon a table near by. 

‘^Your coffee is getting cold, my dear,^’ said the nurse, who, as 
quite the lady,^’ made herself at home at every family board, and 
my-deared^^ everybody except her inferiors. 

What a ghastly, tedious farce was the outward observance of times, 
seasons, and trite ceremonies, when the foundations of our life and 
world were destroyed ! Yet, with Miss West behind the urn, what 
other common ground was there? 

Something in my face, or the studious reserve I maintained with 
regard to the newspaper-story, warned her to discretion, and Elsie 
betrayed no curiosity by glance or word. 

We were still at the table when a telegram was brought in. It was 
directed to me, and from Don : 

Will be with you Wednesday night Take care of yourself 

Don’s tastes and feeling were fine. He would never have written 
God bless you !” upon a postal card, or sentimentalized at two cents 
per word upon a telegraphic form ; so that second sentence was fraught 
with a volume of sorrow, of longing and of love, to my comprehension. 
It meant that the thought of me and the hope of our meeting were all 
that stood between him and despair. It purported, furthermore, that 
his heart was overflowing with tenderest compassion for me, suddenly 
bereft of my second mother. 

Take care of yourself— /or mo,” I read between the lines. Now 
that she is gone, to whom else can I turn for consolation? For God’s 
sake, care watchfully for my most precious treasure ! 

Take care of yourself — until I can be with you, to cherish and 
comfort and protect you from all that love can avert of pain or loss. 

Take care of yourself — for she is no longer with you to brood 
over and guide her daughter.” 

I locked the despatch up in my jewel-chest; I have it still; I shall 
keep it always. The daily letter from Don was received by the morn- 
ing mail, but I left the seal unbroken. I had no right to read what 
he had written in ignorance of the events of yesterday. The same mail 
brought a letter for his mother. I eluded Miss West’s watchfulness, 
and made my way, unseen by Elsie or the watchful Rosalie, to the 
chamber of which nobody spoke, yet which was the fixed centre of 
every thought. The key was on the outside of the door. I withdrew 
it from the lock and shut myself in. The room was so dark that it 
was a moment before 1 could make out the outline of the odious lounge 
still standing in the middle of the floor. Bowls of roses and chrysan- 
themums were upon table and mantel, but the blended perfume did not 


MORE THAN KIN 005 

overcome, to my diseased fancy, the smell that had been strongest here 
yesterday. I knelt by the couch and drew aside the linen sheet. 

Could death wear so fair a guise ? The quick, gentle touch of the 
black-browed angel had smoothed away the few lines graven by time 
and care upon the lovely face. There was even something like arch- 
ness in the smile that almost parted the lips. 

In our bedtime Bible-reading a few nights before, she had talked 
with me of one of the beautiful new truths that were continually drifting 
to her by a sort of spiritual gravitation, and which she was always 
eager to share with others. To give was ever to double a joy for her. 
The words at which she had arrested the reading were these : 

‘‘Tb an inheritance incori'uptible and undejiMy and that fadeth not 
away, reserved in heaven for you,^’ 

She explained that the text in the original held a subtle intimation 
of a glorious surprise-gift kept by the Father against the home-coming 
of each of His children. 

A gift so well worth the waiting for that He cannot help giving 
us a hint of it to keep us in good heart when the day is dark and the 
way rough,^^ she said, with the same happy smile I now looked upon. 

Yet something that cannot be told while we are ‘ in the body pent.’ 
We could not comprehend it, and be content to live. As an earthly 
parent might let a line slip into a letter to his absent boy or girl, — ‘ I 
will not tell you what it is, for I am hoarding it as a joyful surprise 
for you. Imagine what you please. The reality is sure to transcend 
in beauty and value the anticipation.’ Why, girlie! I lived upon that 
one ‘ finding’ for days after it came to me. I am afraid I was almost 
impatient for the hour when the beautiful reserved portion shall be 
revealed to me.” 

The secret and the exceeding joy of it were hers now. 

For a brief space the peace of the thought, like a placid river, went 
over my soul. I remembered no more the anguish of total bereave- 
ment, in sympathy with the unutterable blessedness of her entrance upon 
the changeless Now and Forevermore. Gazing upon the mysterious 
radiance of the smile, the sweet significance of which was but an inti- 
mation of the ‘Go be revealed,” I felt, presently, warm dimness steal 
over my aching eyes; then a rush of weeping hid her from me. 

It was a fitting close to her earthly ministry that I should leave 
at her feet the fierce, bitter nature she would have reckoned alien to 
that of the girl she knew, and arise from my knees when the par- 
oxysm had spent itself, still sorrowful as unto death in spirit, but no 
longer rebellious and vindictive. I kissed the sealed letters I had 
brought with me, and hid them beneath the still folds covering her 
heart. 

“ You understand why neither of them belongs to me I” I whis- 
pered. In the act I felt that I gathered up in my trembling hands 
what poor remains of my life were left, acknowledging in contrition 
that, since God had given it, it were sin to despise it, even in ruins. 
I had reached the door and taken hold of the key, when an impulse, a 
guardian angel — why not she ? — must have awakened, turned me back. 
I knelt again, and, laying my arm over my darling, repeated without 


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omission the Master’s Prayer-Lesson to His own. I added, reciting 
still as from the prompter’s dictation, — 

For if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly 
Father forgive you your trespasses,^’ 

As it passed ray lips I became conscious of a light, unequal tread 
lingering in the hall, passing the room, halting and returning, pausing 
at the door, then going on. It was, as I suspected, Elsie. She wore 
hat and jacket ; her face was colorless, her great eyes anxious. 

Ah, Sydney !” catching her breath at my appearance. I did 
not like to disturb you. Papa has sent the carriage for us. Mamma 
is worse again.” 

She hesitated before passing to me a note directed to her, not to 
me. It was written in pencil, and the uneven characters bore but a 
general resemblance to Dr. Wentworth’s clerkly script: 

Your mother is dangerously ill. Cannot one of her daughters come 
to her? R. Wr 

We will both go, and at once,” I said. We can do no good here 
now.” 

Dr. Gibney was coming out of the front door when we reached 
home, and turned back to tell us the story of the night and morning. 
The rally of our mother’s forces to arrange, as she believed we would 
wish, that we should spend the night under Mrs. Upton’s roof, sus- 
tained her during the homeward drive. She did not speak on the road, 
but sat erect and apparently composed in her corner of the carriage. 
When it stopped she alighted and walked steadily into the house. At 
the foot of the stairs she sank, helpless, speechless, almost lifeless. She 
was carried to her bed, and had not moved or spoken since. 

It is nervous prostration of the most serious type,” pronounced 
the old doctor. What will be the result I dare not predict, but it is 
my duty to tell you, Sydney, that reason and life are threatened. The 
shock of yesterday, supervening upon what may have been a prolonged 
mental strain, is responsible for her condition. One thing more,” — 
dropping his voice and beckoning me into the drawing-room out of 
hearing of Elsie, and of possible listeners above-stairs, — it is safe to 
confide to you, my dear child, my impression that Dr. Wentworth’s 
presence is not salutary at this juncture : I should say decidedly the 
reverse of soothing. Her eyes assume what I might characterize as a 
certain troubled wildness at sight of him. Her pulse fluctuates danger- 
ously when he enters the room or approaches her. I have intimated 
something of this to him, and he did not receive it as I could have 
desired, I regret to say. In fact, he was palpably disposed to resent 
the communication, which, I assured him, was professional, not friendly; 
unequivocally professional, and as indubitably not friendly or personal. 
Mrs. Wentworth turned her eyes toward me when I spoke of summon- 
ing you. I received it, I believe, with reason, as an indication of a 
natural desire to have you with her. I am equally confident that Miss 
West’s attendance would not be sedative. Are you sufficiently com- 
posed to undertake the charge of your mother at this crisis ? If so, I 
will leave my orders with you.” 


MORE THAN KIN. 607 

He sank his voice to a whisper when I had assured him that I 
would allow nobody else to perform the sacred duty. 

Above all things, and before everything, keep away from her so 
much as the rustle of a newspaper ! One hint of what appeared in to- 
day’s Clarion would be fatal to her. And I may say the same of the 
creak of a reporter’s shoes, — let it be Mrs. Robb or any other inter- 
viewer. The printer’s font and the assassin’s bullet are cast from the 
same material, and — God forgive me! — I had nearly said that both 
are sometimes run in the fires of hell ! The traditional bird-of-the-air 
was a blind snail by comparison with the gentry that nose out all we 
are least willing to have other people know. Now that you breathe 
naturally and your color has come back, we will go up-stairs. Let 
Midget come, too!” holding out a kindly hand to Elsie, hovering 
about the stair-foot. She is too much like a shadow to disturb any- 
body.” 

My mother’s eyes moved slightly when we stood beside her; and in 
holding her hand, as I kissed it, I fancied that I felt a tremor in the 
middle of the palm. Aside from these tokens of life, and the faint, 
slow respiration we had to stoop to hear, she lay motionless and ir- 
responsive for nine days and ten nights. 

After the plain hint of his brother-physician. Dr. Wentworth kept 
obtrusively out of the way. The scrupulousness of his self-imposed 
quarantine would have driven me frantic had not my thoughts been 
absorbed by weightier matters. He even avoided the second story, lest 
his step should be recognized. A folding-bed was set up for him in 
the library, but the gas-glare that was not so much as shaded all night 
proclaimed to passers-by, as to the inmates of the house, how little use 
he had for sleeping-accommodations. By day he walked the length of 
the two parlors and the dining-room in the rear, until his beat was 
perceptible upon the nap of the velvet carpets. He received visitors 
while he thus strode back and forth, and, having the field of narrative 
to himself, said what he liked and as he pleased to say it. He was a 
born poseur, and Fate was generous in granting him opportunities for 
the practice of his specialty. 

On the fourth morning after my return he waylaid me on my way 
from the breakfast-room to the patient’s chamber. I wore felt shoes 
and a gown that did not rustle, but he drew his brows together at the 
slight sound I made in passing along the hall. 

If /were in charge of your patient, I should recommend precaution 
that would insure more than nominal quiet,” he said, plaintively. I 
have known a person suflPering from nervous prostration to go into 
spasms at the tread of a fly upon her pillow. I beg your pardon and 
that of Dr. Gibney and his colleague for the presumption of the sug- 
gestion. I should also apologize for detaining you now. How is your 
mother this morning?” 

I made respectful reply, and he hearkened hungrily to each detail, 
sighing profoundly at the conclusion. With ostentation of reticence he 
bit back something he had nearly spoken, and turned with difficulty to 
the cause of the detention. 

It is but right that you should know what is the natural and 


608 


MORE THAN KIN. 


inevitable result of the regime established in the house of which I have 
never been the master except by courtesy. I allude to the transfer into 
other hands of the care of her who, were she conscious, would rise in 
indignant protest against ray exile. And this is but a part of the con- 
sequences of Dr. Gibney’s autocracy and your blind submission to it, 
if, indeed, it be blind. Read that 

My eye followed the dramatic stroke of his forefinger upon a 
paragraph in the newspaper he handed me : 

‘‘The mystery in the Wentworth -Upton case thickens. Friends 
are still rigorously excluded from Mrs. Dr. Salisbury- Went worth’s 
apartment. Her daughters (by a former marriage) are her custodians, 
and, with the alleged connivance of \ocal practitioners, forbid the en- 
trance of everybody else. The husband. Dr. Raymond Wentworth, is 
no exception to this law of banishment, and is reported to be greatly 
afflicted by the extraordinary measure. A rumor was current last 
evening that Dr. Salisbury- Went worth was dead. It was afterward 
contradicted by Dr. Gibney, who, with provincial obstinacy, refuses 
to give the public any satisfactory account of his patient’s condition. 
His reserve lends color to the story that the principal actor in the 
calamitous experiment that has deprived the community of its brightest 
ornament lies at the point of dissolution, in consequence of an unsuc- 
cessful attempt at self-destruction. Her apologists suggest that remorse 
drove her to this extreme step. Cooler heads are nodded over the 
possibilities of a criminal prosecution ” 

I dropped the paper and put my hands over my eyes. The dry 
ache in my throat made my ears roar and my brain swim. 

Dr. Wentworth picked up the journal. 

“ Read on ! There is worse to come !” 

I pushed it away. 

“ That cannot be ! Oh, I never dreamed that anybody could be so 
causelessly — so wantonly cruel ! Why does not some one — why do not 
you — insist that these horrible slanders shall be retracted ?” 

“ What could I say ?” 

His tone was low and hard, so singular that I looked at him in- 
quiringly. One hand crumpled the newspaper into close folds; the 
other was thrown behind him. His fine eyes were contracted and 
bright ; his pose was picturesque. 

“What would you have me say ?” altering the phraseology of the 
query, but not the cutting emphasis. 

“ That the fault was less hers than yours !” My courage rose into 
audacity. “ That your decision and her action were against her better 
judgment ; that she yielded through fear of wounding and displeasing 
you. Other physicians have waived their opinions in deference to a 
colleague. Assume a share of the blame. Think how smitten and 
helpless she is, how her life hangs upon a hair ! She may never be 
able to plead her own cause against this wicked injustice. You are her 
husband. She has no other protector. Oh, if I were but a man !” 

I wrung my hands in impotent distress. 

My step-father’s visage changed oddly while I talked, from pallor 
to purple, and then to the color of dead ashes. Pale muscles stood 


MORE THAN KIN 


609 


out tense about the well-cut mouth; the light in his eyes was not 
pleasant to see; but the strangest thing was a strangled hiss in the 
thorax at the close of each sentence. 

I have not to learn for the first time your sentiments with regard 
to the man honored in your mother’s choice of a partner for the life 
of one of the contracting parties. I believe, however, that you have 
not, up to this hour, essayed to school me as to my duty as a man and 
a husband. Were you more familiar with the circumstances of Mrs. 
Upton’s decease, you might abate your zeal for the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth. If you wish, I — or Miss West — 
can put you into possession of the facts of the case. Should you, 
after hearing these, persist in your demand that I should take the 
public into confidence, I will accede to it. Whether or not such 
obedience will prove me a man will depend upon the tastes of my 
readers.” 

He tore the paper twice across, rolled each half into a ball, and 
tossed them into the waste-basket. 

When you are older and wiser you will comprehend how much 
easier it is to rush into print than to rush out. It is barely possible, 
also, that you may scrape a bowing acquaintance with the practical 
wisdom of letting sleeping dogs lie. Barely possible, I say, because 
your sex as a body is intent upon pursuing the contrary course. You 
look amazed at this plainness of speech. I have been tempted to it 
before, again and again, but a feeling with which you do not credit me 
— regard for your mother — has restrained me. Without going into 
particulars, let me close this dialogue by advising you to ask few 
questions concerning what has occurred within the past week. Should 
Mr. Donald Upton push his inquiries to the length of a civil or 
criminal suit, I shall be so unmanly as to defend myself and the male 
members of the profession. Unless forced to speak openly, I shall act 
upon the practical hint given you just now, and not stir up an ugly 
cur.” 

He made me a magnificent bow and went over to his promenade 
in the drawing-room opposite. 

He had never liked me. He was now my open enemy. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Donald would be at home with the despatch had said) on 

Wednesday night. 

Ah me ! that any conjunction of evils could make me dread that 
home-coming as the condemned criminal the fatal chair and the 
electric current ! 

He would expect to see me upon his arrival. He had pictured to 
himself how I would receive him — no one else — in the hall of the 
desolated house ; would stay his breaking heart with loving word and 
caress. 

Mrs. Wilcox — my mother’s friend, as she had been Mrs. Upton’s — 
consented to meet him at the station and tell him the particulars of the 


610 


MORE THAN KIN, 


fearful event on the way home. The telegram had stated baldly that 
his mother had ‘‘died suddenly.’^ The kind neighbor would not 
intimate to him what the papers he had had no opportunity to see 
in his hurried journey had bruited to gentle and simple, in the dis- 
interested spirit of journalistic enterprise. 

In time, the whole revolting story must be made known to him, 
and he would be prepared by the horror it inspired for what I could 
not defer much longer, — the announcement that we must be strangers 
hereafter. When Miss West, who remained in charge of the house 
until the funeral, had had her say, and a dozen other tongues had 
confirmed her statement, he would understand my absence. I wrote a 
brief note and sent it off in season to Rosalie’s care, with instructions 
to her to give it to Mr. Upton as soon as he was alone. Every word 
had been conned and weighed a hundred times, yet it read like a 
hurried scrawl. It began without date or address : 

“ My mother is ill, — pefi'haps dying. I cannot leave her for one 
minute. God pity and help us all! S. /S'.” 

After Elsie went to bed that night, I sat down in the shaded room 
beside the moveless figure on the bed, and waited. 

For what ? I persuaded myself it was only to hearken for the dis- 
tant shriek of the engine which would leave Don at the station. The 
street and sidewalks in front of the house were muffled with tan-bark ; 
the whole neighborhood was unusually still. I caught the far-off 
rumble of the train among the hills before the whistle signalled the 
approach to Mapleton. Then, with an owlish screech, a jingle of the 
bell, and the “puff! puff!” with which it began to climb the steeper 
grade beyond our plateau, it was away. 

In five minutes the traveller would be at the door in which imagi- 
nation would always frame the figure that had awaited his coming as 
child, boy, and man. In fancy I saw him glance quickly in that direc- 
tion upon alighting from the carriage, so strong would be the habit of 
five-and-twenty years. 

I held my hand over my mouth to suppress a groan. And less 
than a fortnight ago mother and betrothed had planned the home- 
festival that was to celebrate this very return ! If it be true that 

Sorrow^s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things, 

the weight of rosemary and rue bowed my young forehead low to the 
dust that evening. 

The vigil was dreesome at best, after the voices in the street and the 
subdued movement of shutting up the house subsided. It was more 
like the watch beside a corpse than nursely guard upon the living. 
Not a clock in the house was suffered to strike ; even the ticking of a 
watch caused the patient’s pulse to waver wildly. I could only guess 
at the time told off by the bell of the white spire I had watched so 
often from my window in the Upton homestead. Don’s train was in 
at ten o’clock. My note was purposely worded so as to keep him from 
breaking upon the dead quiet of the anxious household, and he might 


MORE THAN KIN. 


611 


refrain from sending a letter lest the ringing of the door-bell should 
be a disturbance. Had a note arrived, I should not dare to open it in 
the chamber, or venture to leave my mother long enough to read it. 

Yet I listened and waited, and longed and sickened, minute after 
minute, until a faint, single stroke from the church-spire tore fond, 
foolish hope from my heart. I had thought myself prepared for 
separation and silence. I had fainted and fallen in the earliest and 
briefest stage of the solitary pilgrimage. To know that he was in the 
same town with me, sitting where we had sat together times without 
number, yet that he made no effort to see or communicate with me, 
was bitterer than death. All the night long, in the compulsory inaction 
of my office, I tortured myself by sketching him as likewise a watcher 
over a still shape, and that shape a mother^s. My spirit flung viewless 
arms about him ; kissed the grief-swollen eyes and pale lips ; mingled 
my tears with his. It was unnatural and violent that he should suffer 
and I not comfort him. Thus dreaming and thus reasoning, I would 
resign myself to the sweet agony of the imaginary interview, until a 
hand on which was blood seemed to start into sight and push us apart. 

My mother^s maid relieved my watch at three o’clock. I break- 
fasted at seven, alone, and, after giving orders for the day, was ready 
to return to my post, when a note was handed me. There was but one 
word in it. 

That was Amen 

God pity and help us all !” I had said. 

He could make no response but this. It told me all that was needed. 
Having heard the terrible story, his conclusion was the same as mine. 
Our union would be an insult to his mother’s memory. In the dead 
of the night preceding her funeral he had set pen to paper as he would 
have laid a stone above the grave of buried love and hope. Neither 
of us had sinned against the other, but the rupture was complete and 
decisive. Our only hope was in the boundless compassion and sustain- 
ing grace of the Father who must pity us in our extremity. Even 
He could not undo the irrevocable. Elsie had said truly that nothing 
could put things back where they were. 

In stoniest calm I sat me down again in the ghostly stillness of 
that upper chamber. At stated intervals we administered nourishment 
and stimulants; the doctors crept in on soundless feet and questioned 
me with eyes, not lips. My answer was as mute. There was no change 
in her. They asked me nothing of myself, or I could have made the 
same reply, unless that suspense was over, and certain sorrow, distinct 
in every black outline, had entire mastery of my spirit. 

The monotony of gloom and silence lasted throughout the day in 
the which my dead, as well as Don’s, was buried out of sight. In my 
outward world the day was like unto the five that had preceded it. 
Beyond the four walls of the vault that shut me in with the motionless 
form upon the bed, the only difference to me in all the realm of nature 
was that one more fresh grave scarred the breast of the earth. 

The night-taper had been burning for an hour when Elsie glided in 
like a shadow. In her hand was a sheet of paper on which she had 
written in large characters, easily decipherable in the half-light, — 


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MORE THAN KIN 


Don is downstairs, I will stay with mamma,^^ 

In the thrill that tingled through me I half arose. Then I set 
my lips and shook my head. At her look of consternation I motioned 
that she must send him away, that I could not and would no*t see him. 
Imperatively, even angrily, I signed her to go and deliver my message 
as I had given it, and without delay. Tears were in her eyes as she 
obeyed and left me to my misery. 

Not until the change of my watch at three o^clock did I write the 
letter that was to prevent a recurrence of the crucial trial of visit and 
denial. I was unstrung in mind and body, and poured my soul out 
in the pages that grew fast under my pen. I told him of my love 
and my certainty of his, and how precious was the recollection of the 
unbroken brightness of that mutual affection in the blessed years for- 
ever overpast. I told him that his death or mine could not dig a deeper 
pit or build a higher wall than the event with which neither of us had 
to do had put between our lives. I prayed that strength might be 
given us to bear ourselves, when parted, bravely as God-fearing man 
and woman ; that we might be kept from bitterness and despair. I 
begged him to believe that I should ever be thankful that I had known 
him, always proud that he had loved me and sought me for his wife. 

He called that forenoon, not losing one minute after reading my 
letter. When I refused to see him, he sat down in the library — Dr. 
Wentworth being absent for an hour — and wrote a passionate protest. 
I have it now. I shall keep it while I live. When I die it shall be 
buried with me. I had utterly misconstrued the Amen’^ which was 
all he had nerve or heart to pen in the prostration induced by his rapid 
journey and the overwhelming grief of his return. Had my mother 
murdered his in cold blood, instead of having hastened her death by 
lack of judgment, the shock of the disaster should have drawn us more 
nearly together, not parted us. Only his death or mine could do that. 
Grievous as was his need of my companionship and sympathy in his 
loneliness and sorrow, he would wait without murmuring until my 
mind was more free to weigh what he had put forward than while 
under the stress of present circumstance. He would never give me up, 
unless I should assure him by word of mouth and in a calm and less 
distressful day that I had ceased to love him. 

I have said that I treasured the letter as a dear and sacred thing. 
I did not answer it, and he wrote no more, divining, perhaps, that I 
would not trust myself to open and read further appeals. He adopted 
another method of keeping himself in my thoughts and of letting me 
know how continually I was in his. Every evening, between five and 
six o’clock, there came to me, enveloped in tissue-paper and tied with 
narrow ribbon of the same color as the flower, a single immense 
chrysanthemum, unaccompanied by card or message. Sometimes it 
was a great fluffy ball of golden fringe; again what looked like a 
ragged cluster of crimped white floss; then an almost perfect sphere 
of tenderest pink petals or of glowing carnation ; now a globe of 
delicate mauve, shading into snow, or a hemisphere with a base of red- 
brown, clarified into a heart of orange-flame. Each flower was without 
a flaw, and none was like the rest. I could not return them to a 


MORE THAN KIN. 


613 


nameless donor ; to refuse to receive them would excite curious com- 
ment; to leave them below-stairs would evoke a smile or covert 
taunt from Dr. Wentworth. So, when Elsie had brought the first to 
my room in the rest-hour the maid insisted upon allotting to me, I 
sulfered the child to do the like each evening, — to put the beauty into 
water, exclaim softly upon its loveliness, and retire on tiptoe, unspoken 
to and unrebuked. 

God only knew how I needed, during the suspenseful dreads of that 
protracted watch, all the silent comforters heavenly and earthly love 
could supply. 

I could have told how the strain had told upon my physique by 
the growing ethereality of Elsie^s never-robust frame. She did not 
complain, and the sweet gravity of her face was not a cloud ; but^I 
met her eyes, at times, fixed upon me, when she did not expect me to 
look at her, and interpreted their shadowed depths by the growing fore- 
bodings I would not voice. Even Dr. Wentworth^s handsome, com- 
placent visage grew haggard with the phenomenal continuance of the 
mysterious stillness which was not coma. Nervous prostration,’^ Dr. 
Gibney had named it. The younger physician talked of a failure 
of co-ordination.” To my untechnical apprehension her state was the 
lashing of a tortured sea against icy bars. I was confident that she 
heard every sound and took in the sense of every movement; that her 
mind was abnormally active. Sitting where I could see the immobile 
outline of her features in the dim glow of the night-lamp, I used to 
wonder what went on behind the mask, — what conflict of love that had 
risked so much, and of remorse over irremediable wrong. In con- 
fronting the King whose shadow hung almost visibly above her bed, 
did she repent the infatuation that had dragged down death upon her 
friend and destruction to her daughter’s happiness? In the honest 
hour, was all well lost for what she had striven to gain and hold, — the 
affections of her superb spouse? 

On the tenth night, as I have reason to recall, the thought came to 
me by degrees, — could my love for Don so far confound my perceptions 
of right and wrong, or combine so successfully against conscience, as to 
tempt me to actual sin ? Had I been in her place, would the fear of 
angering him have made me an accomplice in the experiment involving 
another’s chances of life? The answer was ready. Involuntarily I 
reared my head proudly, a stir of genuine gladness at my heart. 

‘‘ Don would not have asked it of me ! Who follows his lead will 
climb, never fall.” 

My mother had turned her face never so slightly and was gazing 
straight at me. Checking the impulse to spring to her side, I held 
myself still and returned the gaze in smiling composure. 

What is it, mamma dear ?” I asked, softly and without eagerness. 

The agonized entreaty of the hollow eyes compelled me nearer. 

Moving wuth such caution as one employs in the capture of a 
frightened bird that may take fright ere the loving hand can close upon 
it, I moistened the dried lips stirring vainly to shape a word. When 
it came, hoarse and faint, it was a question, reiterated by the imploring 
eyes : 

VoL. L.— 39 


614 


MORE THAN KIN. 


Don V 

‘‘ He is at home, mamma, and well/^ 

Another struggle, and she articulated three words, troubled shadows 
driving over the depths into which I still tried to smile ; 

‘^Will he forgive?’^ 

Truly and freely Did not her life depend upon my tongue? 

When you are well, he will tell you so/^ 

She looked upward in a fervor of gratitude. 

Thank God 

In another moment she had turned her face to the pillow ; the dark 
lashes fell prone upon the wan cheeks ; her respiration was full and 
regular. 

Afraid to prevent the blessed slumber by word or motion, I sat and 
watched her until Thekla, the devoted maid, entered and would have 
relieved me. I would not quit the room, but lay upon a lounge, 
feverishly wakeful and alert for signs of further change. If what had 
saved her life were a lie, I was glad that I had told it. But I could 
answer for Don. I had answered for him. Before he could see her 
I must tell him this. I could think how he would enter her room 
with the light, swift step whose fall upon the floor and stair of the old 
home was strengthful music. He would bow his noble young head 
over her wasted hand and verify my pledge for him, in his mother’s 
name as in his owm. Then, he must go! Come health, come death, 
nothing could shake me from that stand. The bloody line could not 
be crossed in our lifetime. 

The test and the final wrench came frightfully soon. Awakening 
from a sound slumber of seven hours, my mother asked for Elsie, in 
a voice weak but natural. When the child approached, pallid and 
excited, yet exerting the marvellous self-control developed in so many 
ways of late, the feeble arms were raised to embrace her. She would 
have us both sit beside her; her regards went from one to the other 
in mournful intensity of affection. She said little, and yielded grate- 
fully to all we proposed for her nourishment and comfort. Her grand 
constitution had battled hard ; it rallied fast. Yet that day and night 
went by, and her husband’s name was not mentioned by her, by the 
doctors, or by ourselves. That she expressed no desire to see him was 
warrant for our omission. Dr. Gibney shook his head at my reply to 
his catechism on this head. 

^‘Take your cue from her. Insist upon nothing and oppose her in 
nothing. Nature has her in hand, and we must not intermeddle.” 

With the injunction fresh in my mind, I yet blenched and trembled 
at the request following the first attempt to remove her from the bed to 
the sofa. She had borne the change surprisingly well, had taken her 
luncheon with some semblance of relish, and, in calling me to her side, 
used a tone normal in pitch and volume. 

I must see Don, my daughter.” 

^‘Dear mamma! surely a day or two later would be more pru- 
dent.” 

I can wait no longer. While I could not speak the thought was 
with me constantly. Send for him.” 


MORE THAN KIN 615 

Elsie^s face was all alight ; rosy flushes warmed and faded in her 
cheeks : 

He was here awhile ago, to know how you were, mamma. He 
cannot have gone far. Shall I go for him 

I interposed. By a flash of womanly intuition I comprehended 
tljat he and Elsie had been in daily communication ; that, informed as 
to the miraculous change in the patient^s state, he had come to the 
house, resolved not to leave it until he had seen me. No one but 
myself could prepare him for an interview he had not sought, yet 
which could not be avoided. From nobody else could he hear what I 
had engaged he should say and how it must be said. 

will see to that,^^ I said, disregarding Elsie’s offer. 

I made no haste in the little arrangements nurses consider necessary 
for the reception of a visitor to the most daintily ordered sick-chamber. 
A blind must be closed; the slumber-robe readjusted; a chair set near 
the sofa ; a glass of fresh water put within reach of the invalid’s hand. 
Then I walked, still without haste, down the staircase. I was sure of 
finding Don there. I believed that I was braced and armed for the 
interview. 

One glimpse of the familiar outlines of the figure that hurried 
toward me, his back to the strong light of the drawing-room windows, 
overthrew the reserves of factitious fortitude. As the light from the 
door in which I paused fell upon him, another surprise overtook me. 

He was changed as by the lapse of years since our parting, and 
sorrow had refined his features into a likeness to his mother that was 
new and startling. A deluge of memories, of longing, of love despair- 
ing, yet unutterable, dashed over me. 

Sydney ! darling !” said the remembered voice, deepened by 
emotion. 

^^Don! Oh, Don!” 

I was in his arms, pressed close to the great true heart, and for 
some minutes our tears said what speech could not. He had been mine 
for so long and so entirely, our common grief was so poignant, and 
each stood in such need of the other, that the sternest censor may 
forgive my culpable weakness. It passed quickly. Before I could 
stay my tears I released myself and began my remonstrance : 

This is all wrong, Don ! And if it were not, we have no time 
for thoughts of ourselves. Mamma wants to see you. Your name 
was the first word she spoke when she regained her speech and senses. 
She will not be put off, weak as she is and great as is the risk of 
excitement. And I have promised that you will forgive her,” hurry- 
ing on with what must be uttered. If I had not, she might — I think 
she would — have died. If you can find it in your heart to tell her the 
same, it would be a great kindness. She has been terribly punished, 
Don.” 

I could get no further, yet not one sentence of my premeditated 
appeal had been spoken. 

He had both of my hands, and drew them togetlier in his as he 
replied : 

‘‘ My poor love ! how wildly you talk ! Do you know so little of 


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my mother’s son as to imagine that all this pleading is necessary to 
make me tell your mother a little of the sorrowful pity that is in my 
heart for her? When she is well, and your nerves have recovered 
their tone, I must reason out the matter with you. Shall we go up 
now, dear?” 

He put his arm about me, took my handkerchief from my hand, 
and wiped my eyes as I might Elsie’s, gave me one gentle, tender kiss, 
and, keeping me in the bend of his arm, led me up the staircase, and so 
into the presence of her whose fault had orphaned him. 

A sterner nature than his might have relented at the anguished 
prayer of the eyes bent upon the door as we entered. The thin hands 
were raised and clasped in a passion of supplication at his approach. 
He dropped upon one knee to bring his face near the level of hers, 
folding the wasted, shaking fingers in his strong clasp. 

Do not try to speak,” he said, gently. I know 'all, I under- 
stand all. There can be no question of forgiveness between you and 
me. What was done was in the full persuasion that it was best. I 
have never doubted that. As her dear friend and as Sydney’s mother, 
you can never be less than dear to me. Help me to say, ^ The will of 
the Lord be done !’ ” 

Did ever God make a nobler man than this one whom my own 
hand must put away from me ? Did ever minister to one ready to 
perish bring a more blessed gospel than that which the full, manly 
tones recited in the eager ears? 

I stood motionless in body. In spirit I had fallen to the ground 
to kiss the feet of my darling who was also my mother’s saviour. 

She drew a long, shuddering sigh. Such must Christian have 
heaved in losing his burden. A faint smile lit the mournful eyes. 

Sydney will thank you. I never can. God will bless you. I 
am not worthy. I would have saved your mother’s life at the expense 
of my own if I could.” 

I believe it !” interposed Don, soothingly. Do not weary your- 
self by repeating it. When I next see you, you will be stronger and 
better able to talk. Good-by.” 

He raised her hand to his lips, — the hand that had held the accursed 
handkerchief to his mother’s face. Could the purest and loftiest 
ideal of Christian charity go further with this remorseful soul? I 
wondered that my mother could accost me with a semblance of tran- 
quillity : 

My daughter, take him down-stairs and call Elsie. She must 
bring my husband to me. He must hear what Don has said. Then 
I can rest — and try to live.” 

In the solemn excitement of the scene it yet occurred to me to 
wonder if she had denied herself the solace of her husband’s society 
until she was absolved of the sin that had cost her so dear. Was the 
penance of like strain with that which made a hermit of Prince Guy 
within sight of his castle-towers, and a black-veiled nun of the 
repentant La Valli^re? 

Then — for the love of the young is ever selfish — I forgot all else 
in aj)prehension of the interview I could not now avert or postpone. 


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617 


Having met face to face, Don and I must come to a full understanding 
as to our future relations. As we turned into the drawing-room, Elsie 
came flying down the stairs and tapped at the closed door of the 
library. There was a low colloquy ; the child’s tones were happy and 
agitated, the husband’s equable and complacent, as of one to whom 
justice had been rendered after many days. Don and I looked at 
one another as the firm tread mounted the stairway. Sudden crimson 
rushed over the young man’s face ; he clinched his fist. 

Heaven forgive me if I misjudge him ! but I have conceived an 
aversion for that man which may be as unreasonable as it is deadly. 
I am thankful I was not asked to pardon him. Are you sure, Sydney, 
that the whole fault was not his? I would give my right hand to clear 
that poor sufferer up-stairs of participation in his blunder. I may not 
— I do not blame her, but self-reproach is killing her by inches.” 

In his presence the spring of tears could not be bound. 

Oh, Don !” I sobbed, would my heart be broken if it were not 
true ? It is this that is killing me. She was never dearer than at this 
moment when I cannot defend her to you. She loves that man 
blindly — madly — wickedly! Her infatuation has cursed her life and 
ours. Is it to be wondered at that I rave when I think of it?” 

He held me fast when I would have rushed away to hide my 
transport of grief and despair. 

Hush, dear,” he said, solemnly. Nothing but our own wrong- 
doing can curse our lives. Unhappy we may and must be. Such 
wounds as ours do not heal in a week or a year. But love, and time, 
and divine grace for daily needs do heal, or none of us would outlive 
a first sorrow. And by and by — my mother would have it to be soon, 
I know — you will come to me, and let me help carry your load.” 

I made him see (or so I thought) that this could never be. I went 
over the ground my thoughts had trampled for the past fortnight until 
I knew every turn and outlook. I refused to hear counter-statements ; 
I was deaf to argument. A resolute spirit — whether holy or unholy I 
cannot say (God knows !) — carried me onward until I saw him, baffled 
and sorrow-stricken, leave the house, and walk slowly, never looking 
back in the direction of the home I had refused ever to enter again. 

I had the rest of the day for triumph in my victory, or mourning 
over the beaten sods hiding my slain [hopes. Dr. Wentworth was in 
his wife’s room, and she required no other attendant. 


CHAPTER IX. 

My step-father’s behavior during my mother’s tedious convales- 
cence was more than exemplary. It neared sublimity in devotion and 
magnanimity. His patience was illimitable ; his devices for enlivening 
the monotony of the guarded chamber were ingenious and inexhaustible. 
He contrived dainty and delicious meals; fed her with his own hands ; 
brought flowers and fruits to her side ; read aloud by the hour in the 
rich voice whose intonations were a charm against weariness, and in 


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every glance and word and action gave evidence of profound gratitude 
at her return to the right self tliat awarded him the highest place in 
lier heart and esteem. One might have sneered at the assiduity of this 
second ’svooing, had the effect of his policy upon the patient been less 
obvious. If she had loved him before, she seemed now to adore him, 
drawing in animation and vigor from his abundant vitality ; deferring 
to his will in matters great and small, with what struck me sometimes 
as eager servility. 

To her children she was affectionate, appreciative of the trifling 
services we were permitted to offer her, and solicitous lest our long 
confinement in her room might be responsible for the change she could 
not but observe in our looks. Yet, even while she remarked upon 
this, or talked of winter plans for the household, she would break off 
in the middle of a sentence with a flush of almost painful pleasure at 
the sound of her husband^s step or voice, and, after his appearance, 
had eyes, ears, and thoughts for him alone. She never appeared quite 
content unless he were by her, her head upon his bosom, or her hand 
locked in his. 

For what was she trying to atone to him ? I vexed myself uselessly 
with the problem, as with the mystery of his exclusion from her cham- 
ber until after she had implored and obtained Don’s forgiveness. She 
never named Don in her husband’s presence, or seemed to think of 
him. Occasionally and casually she asked me if he were well and 
what he was doing. I replied as if I saw him daily. I had not 
spoken with him since the day he came to see her. 

Knowing me as she did, and the strength of convictions founded 
upon principles learned from herself, could she imagine that the 
exchange of words between the son of the murdered woman and her- 
self could affect the damning fact that severed the victim’s child from 
hers? In her anxiety to make up to her wedded lord for possible 
damage done his reputation by dutiful acquiescence in his decree, to 
win him to forgetfulness of their joint and disastrous blunder, had 
she no thought for two lives that acquiescence and that blunder had 
wrecked ? 

I had no one with whom to discuss the haunting problems. To no 
one could I have propounded them except to the man with whom I 
dared not allow myself to confer. He had not protested against what 
I had assured him was my ultimatum, nor had he called upon my 
mother or myself. Not that he furnished food for gossip by shunning 
the house. In defiance of popular opinion as formulated in ‘^Our 
Society Column,” he took Elsie to walk or drive every fine day. 

I made but one stipulation when he wrote a note to me asking 
permission to perform this brotherly office to the child, whose languor 
and growing thinness had excited his uneasiness, as he was sure they 
must mine.” I thanked him in my reply for his solicitude, and grate- 
fully accepted the offer of what would delight Elsie and soon bring 
back her lost bloom. I begged, however, that no reference should be 
made to the changed relations between him and myself. She must 
know everything before long, but I would not grieve her while she was 
so far from well. To carry out the pious concealment, I used to go to 


MORE THAN KIN. 619 

the drawing-room window to see her off, receiving Don^s bow with the 
kiss she tossed back to me as they drove or walked away. 

My heart had no other sustenance than these chance glimpses, be- 
yond my little sister^s affection. 1 stood forlorn and almost forgotten 
on the outside of the fenced garden of my raother^s heart. Since what 
our special correspondent^^ still alluded to once in a while as the 
late scandal in our best circles/^ I held myself haughtily aloof from 
village intimates. Mrs. Wilcox and Kate had gone to a New York hotel 
for a couple of months, and in their absence calls of friendliness and 
ceremony became fewer and fewer. Mrs. Robb had forced her way in 
twice, and seen no one except Dr. Wentworth. At the third visit, paid 
after his installation as nurse, she was civilly informed at the door that 
all the family were engaged.’^ It was an impolitic measure, but what 
mattered that? We were a marked household. We had been talked 
about our private affairs had ^^got into the papers.^^ Tlie Mapleton 
elite had always had stifled scruples concerning the reception into full 
and regular fellowship in their order of a woman who could write 
after her name and had actually practised her profession to 
maintain herself and younger child. It was odd, if ^^all was right’^ in 
her first marriage, that Dr. Salisbury’s will should have settled a con- 
siderable and specific sum upon his first-born and left the widow and 
baby unprovided for. Under the shield of Dr. Wentworth’s name and 
character, his wife could have lived down unpleasant rumors had she 
been content to deport herself as a gentlewoman should. By overruling 
her husband’s better judgment in her thirst for unfeminine pursuits, 
she had ruined herself and injured him. A. R.”led a lively 

crusade against women-doctors, in which half the papers in the country 
took part. Thanks to this agitation, the nine-days’ wonder was debated 
for twenty-seven — and more. People looked up at our house in pass- 
ing, and a sketch of Donald Upton at his mother’s grave illustrated 
one of a series of newspaper letters upon our suburban cemeteries.” 

These were the circumstances under which Don chose to advertise 
his continued connection with us by the only means left to him. He 
rarely showed himself in our streets unaccompanied by Elsie. She had 
not returned to school. Without consulting my mother, I assumed the 
responsibility of keeping her at home. She should not be ostracized 
or baited by supercilious and inquisitive classmates. I gave up most 
of the forenoon to teaching her. The afternoons she spent with Don. 
The evenings after her early bedtime were passed by me in solitude 
made heavier by those happier things.” 

As Elsie regained her former looks, I lost strength, appetite, and 
interest in existence. So apathetic did I become that nothing hurt me 
much or long. There was dull satisfaction in the belief that I had lost 
susceptibility to pain. 

From this delusion I was aroused as by an earthquake. One No- 
vember afternoon, so raw that I had doubted for a time the propriety 
of allowing Elsie to go walking with her usual escort, and wound my 
own fur boa about her throat, I lingered at the window through which 
I had watched the pedestrians until they were lost to sight at a remote 
turn of their route. Elsie had danced down the walk to the gate to 


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meet Don, having been on the lookout for him. Her small face and 
head seemed to move witli difficulty in the gray fluffiness from which 
they arose when she waved her farewell. The sparkle of eyes and 
smile reminded me of a planet twinkling out of a cloud. A fair and 
winsome thing was this one possession of mine, and I was never so 
entirely satisfied as to her safe-keeping and happiness as when she was 
thus accompanied. A hard pain assailed my heart, a tightness my 
throat, at the anticipation of her distress when the truth should be 
unfolded to her. It was singular that she remained so long utterly 
unsuspicious of a rupture that involved much to her and much more to 
me whom she ardently loved. 

I beg your pardon,’^ said my step-father’s voice at my elbow. 
He smiled slightly and not agreeably at my start ; there was exaggerated 
respect in the inclination of his Antinous head before me, — lorn, and 
esteemed by few, and by none less than by himself. 

Can you spare me a few minutes ?” he inquired, ceremoniously, 

I had nothing to do, and nobody knew this better than he. 

I sat down, and waited for him to begin. Ours were elegant parlors, 
and they used to be cosily home-like. The arrangement of the furniture 
was not altered, yet as I glanced listlessly around me they had the look 
of a body out of which the spirit had fled. Chairs and sofas were 
stiffer for my knowledge that they had not been sat in for days; the 
walls were dead because it had been so long since they threw back 
merry sounds. 

It might have been an accidental choice of positions that brought 
Dr. Wentworth’s back to the light while I faced the windows looking 
down the street. The row of elms massed along the vista were like 
clumps of dun mist, so fine and thick was the lace-work of naked twigs. 
The highway was black with wet, and fitful passions of wind carried 
hurrying flocks of dead leaves before them. The clouds were not heavy, 
but they were a continuous curtain, and drawn closely down behind the 
hills. The scene was lightless; the room felt chilly when Dr. Went- 
worth began to speak : 

You may anticipate the tenor of my communication ; so I need 
not waste time in prefatory remarks. As matters stand, you must see 
that it would not be expedient or pleasant that we should continue to 
live in Mapleton. Did not your mother’s health require a change of 
residence, the attitude of the community with regard to her demands 
it, and imperatively. We — she and I — have therefore decided to sail 
for Europe early in January, even before then, should she be strong 
enough for the voyage. Elsie would naturally accompany us. You, 
being of age and mistress of a sufficient fortune, must use your own 
pleasure as to going or staying. Should you prefer to go, there will be 
no difficulty in letting this house furnished. If, as your mother inclines 
to believe, you should object to becoming one of the party, she suggests 
that Mr. Donald Upton’s wish would probably be to hasten your mar- 
riage. I offer no advice, or even opinion, on the subject.” 

He had not thrown away a word. The dilemma, so nonchalantly 
stated, so horrible to me, was before me. Mapleton of late had been 
dreary and inclement to our shorn fold, but it was homCy and Don was 


MORE THAN KIN. 


621 


in it. I might never speak to him again, or touch his hand, but we 
breathed the same air ; there were blessed whiles in which our paths 
crossed one another, when the sight of him was vouchsafed to my weary 
eyes, and Elsie’s prattle of him kept my heart from starvation. And 
the alternative, — brutally set forth if my tormentor suspected the truth, 
brought forth in indifference as brutal if he were ignorant, — how was 
I to exclude it from the discussion ? how break off here and now all 
talk of hastening what was never to be? 

My lips were stiff and cold ; my voice died in my throat in the 
first effort to articulate. 

I beg your pardon,” said my step-father again, in dry civility. 

How long will you probably remain abroad ?” 

He shrugged his shapely shoulders. 

That will depend upon health and inclination. We shall not 
revisit Mapleton for several years, and may decide to spend those years 
on the other side. Your mother remarked this afternoon that if you 
were already married and settled here, and desired particularly to have 
your sister with you, she might be prevailed upon to leave her in your 
charge. Unless placed in a foreign boarding-school, a child of that 
age gets little good from going abroad. That is a matter that can be 
settled later. It is contingent, of course, upon your action and Mr. 
Upton’s.” 

For an instant fancy slipped the leash of reason, and leaped forward 
joyously toward the picture conjured up by his last utterances. A 
house and home of my own, — Don’s house and mine, — with Elsie to 
have and to hold, and the ocean between us and the man who had robbed 
me of everything else of worth ! The clouds opened above my head 
and let heaven’s boundless glory through. 

Gloom and chill had wrapped me close before I attempted reply. 

You have taken me so entirely by surprise that I must have time 
for deliberation,” rising to end what I could not have endured for 
another instant. I will think the matter over, and give you my answer 
to-morrow.” 

He, too, had arisen. 

As you wish,” coldly. must, however, stipulate that you do 
not force discussion of an agitating topic upon your mother. She is 
unequal to it.’' 

I had not thought of it,” I said, in even more freezing brevity. 

^^That is well. I am relieved that you show her thus much con- 
sideration.” 

He looked out of the window, evidently with a single eye to the 
chances of storm, breathing an air of Schubert between lips pursed for 
whistling, and betook himself leisurely to his wife’s sitting-room. She 
was sufficiently recovered to leave her bed-chamber during the day. 

It did not occur to me then, nor for long afterward, that he had used 
her name unjustifiably in the communication which he implied she had 
empowered him to make. To this hour I am ignorant how much false- 
hood was woven into the web of fact, but sober reflection suggests doubts 
that would then have been balm to my wounded spirit. 

I was afraid of myself; afraid of the desperation of loneliness .that 


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envelopeil and suffocated me; afraid of tlie wild impulses surging upon 
one another, icy waves, bitter as brine, stinging like hail. Hardly 
knowing what 1 did, or why, except that the air of the house bought 
with my father’s money, the house in which Elsie had been born, and 
from which this man, my mother’s husband, had the right to thrust me 
into the street, was intolerable, I snatched from the hall-rack a shawl, 
and got myself from the shelter of the roof that covered him and the 
mother who had forsaken her first-born. Like one pursued, I paced 
up one garden-alley and down another, unmindful that the fall of night 
brought with it fine, cold rain, until I saw Elsie’s shadow moving 
restlessly about my room, appearing upon and passing from the drawn 
curtains of the illuminated windows. 

have been looking everywhere for you !” she cried, when I had 
dragged myself up to her. I thought you were lost. Fie ! fie ! what 
a naughty girl to stay out of doors until she is wet to the skin and 
all the curl out of her pretty hair ! Oh, I had the loveliest walk ! Sit 
down, and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

She pulled off my wet swathings, rubbed my damp cheeks with her 
warm hands, and, pushing me into a chair, perched herself upon my 
knee. Her eyes shone; dimples danced about her mouth. How 
much good Don had done her ! God bless him ! oh, God bless him ! 
for the most loyal friend, the most gallant champion, oppressed innocence 
ever found. 

I caught my darling to my heart, and kissed her over and over. I had 
to tell her, sometime. It could no longer be ke|)t, now that we were 
going away forever. For this was the resolution I had taken in my 
restless tramp in the dripping shrubbery. My mother did not care 
what became of either of us, so long as her husband accompanied her, 
but, for all that, we ought to go with her. There was nothing else to 
do. Separation would stir up further scandal compromising her, and 
we had no other protector, — Elsie and I. My heart bled slow drops as 
I summoned strength to say what would bring back the old, unchildlike 
worry to the dear face, the piteous anxiety to her eyes. Yet, if I let 
pass this opportunity. Dr. Wentworth might consider it obligatory upon 
him to break to her the news of our banishment, and her artless ques- 
tioning would precipitate the rest of the revelation. 

I began in assumed carelessness, winding and burnishing upon my 
finger a stray tress of her hair, which was the color of a chestnut fully 
grown and ripened in the sunshine. 

I have heard something this afternoon, dear, — something that 
surprised and shocked me,” — quickening speech as the remembered 
shadow stole into place. Doctor says mamma must go abroad. She 
may not come back for a long time.” 

She laid her arms about my neck and her face upon my shoulder. 

‘‘Will it cure her, Sydney?” in a low, awed tone. 

“Oh, yes, I think so, little one. She is out of danger now, and 
the change will probably restore her entirely.” 

Elsie was silent. I feared she was weeping, and when she spoke 
the cheerful tone took me by surprise : 

“ I can’t leave you, you know, sister. You can’t do without me 


MORE THAN KIN. 


623 


since oiir great trouble came. And you ought not to leave Don. He 
never needed you half so badly before. You are all he has. So IVe 
been thinking that you had better marry him and we three will go on 
living here. Or, would you go to Don^s house 

A needle pierced my soul with each naiVe sentence. I could not 
temporize longer. 

Elsie ! listen to me. Maybe I ought to have told you before, 
but I dreaded to undeceive you. Don and I will never be married. 
Don’t ask me why. And don’t make it harder for me than it is now. 
And don’t let this make you unhappy if you can help it.” 

She did not cry out, or tremble; only sat bolt upright, eyes shining 
out of a clear face from which every drop of blood had retreated. For 
perhaps two minutes she was perfectly still ; then the great, luminous 
eyes came around to rest upon mine. Her mind was made up. Her 
accents were resolute. When the midget” looked and spoke in that 
fashion, fire and water could not stay her. 

I must ask you, Sydney ! Don loves you so that it would be 
wicked not to marry him. Why, sister ! he has nobody but you that 
belongs to him, now that his mother is dead.” 

Her mouth worked, but she would not give in until her protest 
was ended. I’ve noticed that you didn’t see much of him lately, but 
I supposed you wrote to one another every day, and ’twasn’t strange 
that it should make papa feel bad to meet him just now. I thought 
he stayed away on that account, and that when mamma came down- 
stairs Don would be here again, just as usual.” 

She was feeling her way, inch by inch. The perception of this 
and her glance over her shoulder at the door gave me the idea that she 
longed to say something confidential, yet which she fancied I might 
not approve. She must not learn to be afraid of me. We were, here- 
after, to be all in all to one another. 

What is it, love?” I queried. Speak out all that is in your 
wise little head.” 

She shook it soberly, and put a hand to each temple. 

It isn’t wise, but there is so much in it that it aches sometimes, 
especially since you told me never to speak again of what I can’t help 
thinking of all the time.” 

After this, say what you please,” said I, mournfully. Nothing 
can hurt me. And if it did, this dear head must not be left to ache if 
I can help it. It isn’t good for my baby to think of things she can’t 
talk out to me.” 

The soberness was not lightened, but she was encouraged. Her 
voice w^as little more than a whisper ; she glanced again at the door. 

I have known all the time what made mamma ill, and why it 
excited her to have papa in the room until she could see Don and ex- 
plain all about it and ask him to forgive papa. For it was a fearful 
thing, Sydney, that it should have been given when she was sure it 
ought not to be.” 

I had nearly silenced her peremptorily at that. The torture was 
like the fall of hot lead upon ear and heart. I held back the pas- 
sionate impulse, and let her go on. I would keep my word to her. 


624 


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She must not learn to fear my impetuous moods and quick tongue. 
After all, she was only what I had called her, — my baby, thinking and 
speaking with childish inconsequence. 

You see, I was right there when it happened. A telegram had 
come for mamma, and I took it to Mrs. Upton’s, and Rosalie called 
mamma out of Mrs. Upton’s bedroom to get it. I picked up the 
telegram afterward from the floor where she had thrown it. It was 
from Dr. Barker, and this was what it said : ‘ Letter received. DonH run 
the I tore it up into little pieces. Mamma was unconscious, 

and I thought nobody else had a right to it. When she read it she 
pressed her lips together tight. You know how she looks when she 
is very determined. Then she sat down at Mrs. Upton’s desk and 
began to fill up a telegraph-blank. It didn’t seem to suit her, and she 
tore it up and began another. She looked very pale and serious, and I 
was wondering what had happened to worry her, when all of a sudden 
I smelled chloroform. You know there is no mistaking the smell. 
Mamma must have noticed it, too, for she jumped up and dashed right 
past me through the hall to Mrs. Upton’s bedroom, I ran after her, 
— I was so frightened, — and I suppose she forgot all about me. Mrs. 
Upton was lying on the lounge, and papa was holding a handkerchief 
to her face. He had a bottle in his other hand. Mamma flew right 
at him, and snatched the bottle, and threw it across the room. Then 
she fell on her knees by the lounge and began to fan Mrs. Upton, and 
said, as I never heard her speak before, ‘ My God, Raymond ! what 
have you done?’ Then Miss West came running in from the other 
room, and I felt I ought not to stay. And the next thing I heard — 
you know the rest, Sydney !” 

My head was so light and the room spun so rapidly about me that 
I could summon no words. The frozen quietude deceived the narrator. 
It was not for nothing that the wise head had ^been thinking all these 
weeks. The low, steady tone resumed the tale, when I did not reply : 

I would have told you everything that day, you recollect, but you 
said, ^ We must never speak to one another again of what has hap- 
pened.’ And I thought that you must understand how mamma felt. 
She loved Mrs. Upton so dearly, and she just worships papa. And, 
although what was done was an accident, he must have known that she 
was opposed to it, or he wouldn’t have given the chloroform when she 
was not in the room. I think the reason it made her worse to see him 
when she was so ill was that it brought everything back to her. And, 
afterward, when she was better, she was very sorry for him, and sorry 
she had seemed angry. She is trying to make up to him for it, now, 
all the time, and to comfort him. He must suffer dreadfully when he 
thinks of what he did.” 

Suffer !” ejaculation burst forth with impassioned energy that 
alarmed her. Suffer ! when he has let everybody think that she did 
it, — not he ! Oh, the hypocrite ! the double-dyed, heartless, cruel hypo- 
crite! And all this time I, like a fool ” 

I tore at my throat, where something choked the words and 
strangled me to blindness. 

Sydney I” the great gray eyes wide with horrified amazement, 


MORE THAN KIN. 


625 


did you think — could you, or anybody, believe that our mother had 
killed Don’s mother ? Oh, my poor dear ! what you have had to bear, 
and nobody to help you or tell you anything better!” 

She wrapped my head in her arms, patting and stroking it, sob- 
bing and cooing as over something grievously hurt. Suddenly she let 
me go, and jumped up, face and figure alive with excitement. 

And that was why you said you never could marry Don ? Did 
you tell him ?” 

The change to sternness would have amused me at another time. 
It actually cowed me instead. The mistake that had been so dis- 
astrous seemed now culpably inexcusable. 

Don’t blame me, Elsie!” I pleaded, humbly. ^‘Miss West told 
me how it had happened, and everything helped me to believe her. I 
have been very, very unhappy !” 

She compressed her lips, marched across the floor and put out her 
hand to the bell-knob, arrested the motion, and turned to me. 

‘^May I have your phaeton, Sydney.? and may John drive me? I 
must see Don to-night, or I couldn’t sleep a wink. He mustn’t be left 
to believe this one minute longer.” 

Do what you please, dear.” 

I was crying outright now, with the soft abundance of a spring 
shower. Rocks and ice were gone ; there were the awakening of life 
and the stirring of growth under the warmed waters. She did not 
ring, and my tears melted her sternness. She came over to me, and 
again took my head into her embrace. 

didn’t mean to be unkind, Sydney. I was just thinking of 
Don, and how he didn’t get comfort when he needed it most, and 
how he loves you, and all that. Don’t you suppose I understand why 
he is so good to me? Just because I am your sister. He is very 
lonely, Sydney.” 

I had no answer. 

If you had seen him in his home, as I have, — alone and sad, — 
missing his mother everywhere, and with your picture — the one taken 
in your gray-and-silver luncheon-gown — on his table, side by side with 
hers, and sighing as he looks at them, you’d feel just as I do, only 
more, don’t you know, Sydney !” with a tremendous muster of courage. 
‘‘ Won’t you let me order the close carriage — it’s raining, you see — 
and go with me, this minute, to see him ?” 


CHAPTER X. 

The rain fell in straight sheets as we alighted at the door I had 
not expected to enter again. The pour upon the roof drowned the 
noise of our arrival to the solitary occupant of the library. With the 
delicacy that never failed, Elsie said she would go up-stairs with 
Rosalie and dry her shoes, the soles of which were damp, she was sure. 
I tapped at the library door, and it swung a little on the hinges, the 
bolt not having caught in the socket. My knock was unheard or 
unheeded. 


626 


MORE THAN KIN, 


Through the crack made by the moving door I saw the figure sitting 
before the fire. A lamp was on the table beside him, and he seemed 
to be reading a paper or book held in the right hand. His head was 
supported by the left. I stepped within the room, my footfall niufiled 
by the rugs, and stole, still unheard, up behind him. Over his shoulder 
I saw that he was studying a panel-photograph of myself, — the one 
Elsie had described, — the picture that was to have welcomed him in 
his own room upon his return from his three weeks’ absence. 

The photograph was singularly distinct and fine. The laughing- 
eyed girl looked saucily up in the sad eyes above it ; the alert pose of 
the figure, the minutest detail of her costume, even to the marguerites 
of the brooch, had come out well ; the velvet frame he had selected for 
it was powdered with silver daisies. 

After all our years of loving and trusting and hoping, this dumb 
semblance of what I had been was the one solace left to him in his 
desolated home. 

As he raised it to his lips with a murmur of inarticulate fondness, 
I flung myself upon the floor before him, the carefully-prepared address 
I had thought over as we drove through the rainy night forgotten 
with everything else, save that which uttered itself in the wild cry, — 

Oh, Don! it was not mamma who did it! Will you take me 
back r 

* * J|e * * * 

How did you get here?” asked Don, by and by. 

W'e were quite composed, and had begun to chat in the old way, 
he in the big chair that had been his father’s, and I 

Well, it was Mrs. Upton herself who put it into our heads, by 
telling us how her husband and she used to sit thus on the evenings 
when they had no visitors, from the day of their marriage to their 
separation by death. 

John drove us over,” I said. And that reminds me that he 
must be well soaked by now. How careless in me !” 

How divine in you!” ringing the bell. David,” to the butler 
who answered it, Miss Salisbury’s coachman is exercising his horses 
in front of the house. Tell him to put them into the stable, and do 
you take him into the kitchen.” 

^‘That is not worth while,” interposed I. ‘^We must be going 
at once.” 

A gesture checked me. He went on to the man in the same tone 
of pleasant authority : 

You will see that this is done, David ?” 

Yes, sir. But if you please, Mr. Upton, the horses have been 
under cover and John by the kitchen fire this hour or more. Rosalie 
thought those would be your wishes, sir.” 

Rosalie was right. David, these young ladies will dine with me 
this evening. See if there is anything in the house good enough for 
them. What is it?” as the respectful servitor, the pink and impersona- 
tion of propriety, gave sign of further communication. 

Yes, sir. I was only about to say, sir, that dinner will be served 
whenever you give the order, sir, and preparations have been made 


MORE THAN KIN. 


627 


for visitors. Rosalie was sure you would be wishful to have them 
stay.^^ 

Rosalie was right, again. Before dinner is served, send Thomas 
with my compliments to Mrs. Wentworth, and say that the young ladies 
are safe and will be at home later. Or — stay ! I will write a note.^^ 

Yes, sir. If you please, Mr. Upton, I think Miss Elsie sent a 
note to Mrs. Wentworth half an hour ago by Thomas. Miss Elsie 
and Rosalie took the liberty of sending Thomas without consulting 
you, seeing you were engaged.^^ 

The half-smile upon the young master’s face expanded into a half- 
laugh at the final word ; his eyes flashed in my direction. 

Right in all but one respect, David. Miss Elsie Salisbury could 
not take a liberty in a house that is soon to be her home. I am to be 
married in a fortnight. Did Rosalie know what my wishes in that 
regard would be?” 

David bowed low to me, then to his master, and a third bow took 
in both of us. 

We’ve all understood that, this great while, Mr. Upton, sir, and 
all of our wishes haven’t been anyways different in that respect. And 
if I may be so bold, sir, considering I’m fifteen year and more in 
the family, I should say the sooner the better, sir ; and hearty good 
wishes from us all.” 

He backed out, and Elsie’s gentle rap followed soon upon his dis- 
appearance. Don’s eyes glistened as she sprang into the arms he 
extended. He kissed her again and again with moved fondness very 
beautiful and touching. 

Would you like to have the half of my kingdom, little sister ? 
Ask for it, and it is yours. You can have anything that is mine, 
except Sydney. I am so much richer than she by this transaction 
that I am anxious to equalize things, — to strike a balance in some 
way.” 

I had told him that I came to him a refugee whom nobody else 
wanted. It was like him to vaunt his own gains, to lift me forthwith 
into the queen’s place in his home. Happy as we all were, and light- 
hearted beyond what we could have reckoned as a possibility three 
hours before, a solemn hush fell upon us when Don led me up to his 
mother’s place at table and put me into her chair. In doing this he 
stooped and kissed me, before Elsie, David, and Rosalie, — this last had 
lingered in the door to see me installed, — a grave, sweet kiss, under 
which I did not blush. I took it as he meant it, as from her. 

Anything prettier than Elsie’s modest ecstasy of delight throughout 
the meal and the rest of the evening could not be imagined, unless it 
were Don’s serene enjoyment of our companionship after the dreary 
stretch of solitary meals and evenings that divided him from the idyllic 
home-life his mother made for him. 

Dinner over, Elsie vanished upon another errand to Rosalie, and 
at his earnest prayer I prolonged our visit until he had consumed a 
post-prandial cigar in the library. 

‘^Is that what they call a long nine ?” I asked, at length, demurely, 
‘^or a modern edition of the brand quenched and locked up in a chest 


628 


MORE THAN KIN. 


by a princess who, the wicked fairy said, would live until it was burned 
up? I have been watching for the tiniest puff of smoke for at least 
fifteen minutes, and seen none. I miist go, now, Don. Elsie ought to 
have been asleep an hour ago.’^ 

He laughed in tossing the dead and cold fragment of the cigar into 
the grate. 

‘‘ Caught ! Ah, well ! the need of such artifices will soon be over. 
I yield more readily in this instance because I must see Dr. Wentworth 
to-night and spare you the trouble of giving him an answer to-morrow. 
Heaven send me patience and the grace of forgiveness 

His countenance darkened so ominously that I laid my hand upon 
his arm and implored him to bear in mind what we had agreed upon 
in the talk that preceded dinner. It was the story I had read every 
day for ten years, — the impracticability of meting out the recompense 
of the wrong-doer without flinging the heavier stone upon a guiltless 
soul to whom the sinner was dear. This man had violated a sacred 
trust and sacrificed his wife’s peace of mind and reputation to the demon 
of his self-love. To clear his skirts of blame, he had suffered public 
reprobation to rest upon her, if he had not actually directed it toward 
her. Of this depth of infamy she did not dream. Devoted wife as 
she was, she would not, I tried to believe, have let me immolate my 
happiness for a groundless suspicion. I affirmed this boldly to Don. 

Neither of them so much as suspected our altered relations,” I assured 
him. Mamma is too fond a mother — as a woman, she is too just — 
not to have revealed the truth to me, rather than see me miserable.” 

He gathered me to him, raised my chin, and gazed into my flushed 
face. 

I am not prepared to assert the contrary in this case,” he said, 
slowly. I am still less ready to say what a woman will not do who 
loves her husband with the intense, anxious adoration your mother 
displays for hers. It is abnormal, — an excrescence, rather than natural 
growth. It cripples me wofully, as you say. Were I to tell him all 
I know, — not revealing, of course, Elsie’s agency in setting things 
right, — he would visit his spleen and chagrin and humiliation upon 
his wife in some ingenious way. This sort of vicarious revenge is a 
favorite with men of his stripe.” 

Don !” I interrupted, was there ever another like him ?” 

Few have his opportunities, dear, fortunately. Hush ! stand 
back, and keep quiet.” 

To my bewilderment, he broke off abruptly, with three hasty 
strides crossed the floor, and passed the portiere separating library 
and drawing-room, letting it close behind him. Then I heard Mrs. 
Robb’s incisive tones in the outer apartment : 

Ah, Donald ! David would have kej)t me out, like a sick dog, 
upon your veranda, this beastly night, had I not pushed by him. 
What is going on, that he has orders not to admit callers ? Such things 
don’t go down with newspaper-people, you know. And you don’t look 
overjoyed to see me, now I am in.” 

I surmised from the change in her voice that she sat down as she 
spoke, and when Don replied, that he remained standing. 


MORE THAN KIN. 


629 


What has purchased for me the honor of your visit, Mrs. Kobb 

The accent was curtly civil, totally dissimilar to his accustomed tone. 

Her laugh was a sniff. 

That isn’t over-polite, either ! See here, Don Upton ! you don’t 
mean that you are not man enough and haven’t savoir-faire enough to 
rise superior to the provincial trick of resenting newspaper methods of 
dealing with private history ? Why, man ! how would big or little 
papers live if we didn’t cater to the taste of our readers? Whatever 
will sell must go into print. And write it down that the paper that 
is boycotted by subscribers is not the goody-goody sheet that won’t 
have domestic scandals written up for its columns.” 

We have hardly time to enter upon the discussion of the subject,” 
rejoined Don, with no abatement of formality. If, as I imagine, you 
think that I can serve you in some way, kindly indicate it.” 

‘‘ That is cold business with a vengeance !” Yet I fancied that she 
respected him none the less for the dignified rebuff. As you suppose, 
I don’t traverse the streets in November storms to converse with nice 
young men upon unimportant topics. I heard this evening that Dr. 
and Mrs. Wentworth are fairly hunted out of Mapleton by public 
sentiment, and go abroad almost immediately. I made Tom drive me 
to their house directly, but, as usual, was met by the message, ^ En- 
gaged, and unable to see anybody.’ So I had no alternative but to 
hunt you out and get at the truth. You needn’t look non-committal. 
Something on that subject goes into The Clarion to-morrow morning. 
I shall send my Jim down to the city with my ^ story’ in half an hour. 
If you don’t deny that the whole Wentworth family are off to Europe 
next month because Mapleton is too hot to hold them, I shall send 
what I have heard. You are young and hot-headed, so I’ll give you 
another crumb of counsel. Neva' quarrel with a newspaper-man or 
woman. You’ll pay for it six times over if you do. Now ! what am 
I to say ?” 

Mental vision showed her to me as plainly as if the velvet portUre 
had been sheerest muslin, — blotting-pad and blue pencil in hand, her 
head turned sideways in impudent confidence of gaining her end. 

^^Your husband is my friend, Mrs. Robb,” returned Don, in 
admirable temper. You are in my house. These are considerations 
that stay proceedings I should undoubtedly institute were my inter- 
viewer of my own sex and near my age. As neither Dr. nor Mrs. 
Wentworth has ever intimated to me by word of mouth, or otherwise, 
the intention of going abroad next month, next year, or ever, I cannot 
give a categorical answer to your question. One thing, however, I can 
and do cheerfully affirm of my individual will and knowledge : the 
entire family will not take flight from Mapleton, since I am to marry 
Miss Salisbury and bring her to my own house week after next. I 
court publicity for this fact, now that the time is definitely settled. Is 
that your carriage out there in the rain ? Did I understand you to 
say that Tom is in it? He must be wet through. May I not bring 
him in?” 

By no means !” cried the newspaper- woman, briskly. I must 
hurry home. He doesn’t mind a wetting in a good cause, or ought 
VoL. L.^40 


630 


MORE THAN KIN. 


not scribbling for dear life. ‘^The marriage will be private, 

of course? Any details you care to furnish 

There are none in so quiet an affair/’ rejoined Don, with com- 
mendable gravity. I really must insist upon calling poor old Tom. 
Hear tlie rain ! A glass of whiskey-and-water — hot, now — would 
keep him from taking cold.” 

Mrs. Robb never brought Tommy to the front if she could avoid 
it. He had little to say, gauged by ideas, but he made that little long. 
I heard Mrs. Robb once define the unpardonable sin to be boring 
one’s neighbor.” Presumably her mental attitude toward her husband 
was vindictive, for a more amiably tiresome man never took in depre- 
cat ingly the breath of life. 

Seeing the host start toward the door, she pursued him, overtaking 
him in the hall. 

Thank you for a juicy item !” mingled with the patter of the 
flood as the front door was opened, — and Don was back in the library, 
shaking himself free of clinging drops from the umbrella he had held 
over her to the gate. 

He affected not to see my troubled face. 

Unhappy Tommy !” he ran on, holding up one foot, then the 
other, to the grate. ‘‘ After all, the best turn I could do him would 
be to let him catch his death outside. What must existence be to a 
man who is tied to such a woman ? She has the exhaustive perti- 
nacity of a leech, the rattle and sting of a snake.” 

Yet none dare set foot upon her head,” returned I, drearily. 

Don ! think twice before allying yourself with a family whose evil 
name you cannot defend. The trail of the serpent is over us. The 
worst of it is that even so brave a champion as you could not defy 
her to tell a story so frightfully near the truth. Somebody says that 
reportorial mud rubs off if allowed to dry. That is, I fancy, when it 
is only mud, and made from clean soil. A mixture such as this woman 
compounds sticks and stains. Will you never be ashamed of us?” 

‘^Of Raymond Wentworth? Yes! But he is not us, thank 
heaven ! The rest of the question will be answered two weeks from 
to-day. Would it were to-morrow !” 


After drawing that final line I glanced up from my paper. I have 
written this story at odd hours in my corner of the library, which is the 
nookiest in the room. Much of it has been penned while Don taught 
Elsie chess. The two are upon the other side of the hearth, with the 
chess-table between them. The tall girl of fifteen is stigmatized by her 
instructor as an ungrateful adept” in the fascinating game. The 
silent hour occupied by an unusually hard-fought battle was ended just 
now by a gush of happy laughter, telling of another victory. The 
large gray eyes have still the tender look of the child as she looks over 
to me with the instant apprehension that she may have disturbed me. 
Her slightest act is always judged by her conscience according to the 
effect it has upon others. She is fragile no longer, and her smile is of 
sunniest content. 


MORE THAN KIN. 


631 


Don is a goodly man to-night in the black velvet smoking-jacket I 
gave him at Christmas ten days ago. The resemblance to his mother, 
never traceable until after her death, is more marked now than then, 
I think because she is so much the theme of thoughts and speech with 
us. Her portrait hangs behind him ; a vase of mignonette is beneath 
it. I compare the two faces until — his attention attracted, perhaps, by 
the cessation of the pen-scratch over the paper — he raises eyes very 
like hers in their loving light, as they meet mine. 

Can I do anything for you, love he asks. 

Nothing that you are not doing for me all the time V’ 

He gives me a longer, more earnest look, and asks no further ques- 
tions. Raising a finger to his lips, he throws me a silent kiss, and in 
the same gesture bids me cease from praising him. 

Did I speak my mind I might retort, and strongly, that were I to 
keep silence, the very stones of his ancestral abode would cry out for 
justice to the noblest of a line of honorable. God-fearing, home-loving 
gentlemen. 

My mother is on the sea, and we congratulate ourselves that the 
weather is bland for January. She brings her husband’s remains with 
her for burial in Mapleton. We have begged her to live with us, but 
she prefers to take up her abode in her old home. Elsie will divide 
her time between the two households, and our boy and baby-girl will, 
we hope, do much toward cheering her second and sadder widowhood. 

Don and I wonder together, sometimes, if she ever knew of the 
stigma cast upon her by the circumstantial evidence which her husband, 
the only person, as he supposed, who could controvert it, took no pains 
to cast aside. We hope that the truth was never revealed to her. We 
are certain that she would have borne the onus dumbly, so long as the 
welfare of her children would not be prejudiced by her submission to 
this one more injustice dealt by the hand she let sway her life. Neither 
of the wedded pair ever resumed the practice of medicine, and, from 
flying rumors borne to us over the sea, we learn that the general im- 
pression in the foreign circles of which he was an ornament was that 
Dr. Wentworth yielded his own preferences for an active life in America 
to his wife’s taste for elegant ease abroad. His sentimental homesick- 
ness is reported to have been infinitely interesting to travellers and 
American residents in the storied lands the partner of his exile loved 
too well to leave. 

His indulgence of her every taste and whim was the loveliest 
thing imaginable,” said a travelled friend in the visit of condolence paid 
me after the news of his death was received, and inimitable by the 
average husband.” 

I let the eulogium pass unchallenged ; forbearance for which Don 
commended me on hearing of the interview. 

De mortuis nil nisi bonum/^ quoth he, thoughtfully. 

I answered in Shakespearian (or Baconian) English, — 

The evil that men do lives after them.” 

In partial proof of which I offer this simple tale. It is not in 
rebuttal of my principle that there is, humanly speaking, an imperish- 
able element in evil, that I cite the circumstance of the honorable 


632 


MORE THAN KIN 


mention made of our late distinguished and popular citizen’^ by the 
Mapleton papers. We have two, now, one a daily with society items 
that would do credit to a metropolitan journal. Big’^ city sheets gave 
three or four lines apiece to what The Clarion styled ^‘a beneficent 
and blameless life.^^ Several stated that he had remained abroad on 
account of Mrs. Wentworth’s health. 

Four years and three-quarters is two generations in newspaperdom. 

A. R.” is not here to exhume and exhibit the ^‘subject.” 
Tommy Robb, in spite of a vigorous constitution, entered into much- 
needed rest two years ago, and his widow at once removed to the 
metropolis, with intent — as Don put it — to go into scavengering as a 
profession.” Her four boys are clerks in as many offices and shops, 
and do a generous part toward her maintenance. Don has learned 
from various sources of her weariful ploddings from one newspaper 
office to another with wares more or less sensational. Sometimes they 
are accepted ; oftener they are rejected. At long intervals we receive a 
paper in which an article scored with the editorial blue pencil is signed 
C. A. R.” She sows beside all waters (at so much per furrow and 
hill), and a column of a religious weekly was read aloud to-night before 
the game of chess and Chapter X. were begun. In terms impartially 
scriptural and slangy, the writer inveighs against tale-bearing, back- 
biting, scandal-mongering, and lying. The diatribe bears the caption 
‘^The Poison of Asps.” 


THE END. 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 


633 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 

[journalist series.] 

T he sporting editor has become a very important factor in daily 
journalism in the past decade. Previous to that time only a few 
important metropolitan dailies made any attempt to chronicle sporting 
events and gossip in departments separate from their local and general 
news. Except in the cases of racing or base-ball, no special knowledge 
was thought to be needed to enable an ordinary reporter to write up a 
sporting event like a yacht-race, a prize-fight, or a billiard-match. 
The often results were reports which were ludicrous in their inac- 
curacies and blunders. 

Now even the most conservative of the great dailies employs a 
corps of trained specialists to describe and write of sporting events, and 
places them under the direction of a capable sporting editor. The New 
York Tribune has a deservedly high reputation for its racing reports. 
The Evening Post finds it profitable to devote a good deal of its space 
to comments on racing and field games, while the Mail and Express, 
the most religious of metropolitan dailies, makes a great feature of 
tipping would-be winners on the leading race-tracks. Even the 
Philadelphia Ledger has fallen into line, and it now has a very valuable 
sporting department. In fact, no daily paper of consequence is now 
without expert sporting talent. It is no unusual thing for the New 
York Sun or the Herald to give up a page and more to reports of sport- 
ing events. Twenty-five years ago, no paper except the Herald would 
publish as much in a week. It is the same in the West and South ; 
and some of the brightest sporting writers in America are to be found 
in Chicago, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Omaha, Denver, New Orleans, and 
San Francisco. Much of the wonderful success of the Cincinnati En- 
quirer is due to its exceptionally full and accurate reports of sporting 
matters. I had the honor of starting this department and of nurturing 
it for years. In the early days it was thought to be the proper thing 
to apologize editorially for an extended report of a prize-fight with 
a paragraph like this: ^^As will be seen by reference to our news 
columns, another disgraceful exhibition known as a prize-fight has 
taken place. We call the attention of the authorities to this matter, 
and we earnestly hope they will do their duty ; and if they do, the 
fighters will hereafter, for a while at least, do the State good service, 
breaking stone, if their surplus muscular energy cannot be utilized 
in another way.^^ This was the regulation editorial antidote for the 
news bane. Nowadays, prize-fights have become well-nigh obsolete, 
and boxing-contests,^^ which have taken their place, do not call forth 
such animadversions. 

Forty years ago the average American was a far less perfect speci- 
men of physical manhood than he is to-day. If college-bred, he ran to 
mentality at the expense of muscle, and men with sound minds in 
sound bodies were the exceptions rather than the rule. The Brother 


634 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 


Jouathaii type of man, hollow-cheeked and hollow-chested, round- 
shouldered, long-armed, and spindle-shanked, abounded. 

In those days there were very few gymnasiums outside of New 
York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cincinnati, St. Louis, and New 
Orleans, and these were mainly conducted by men who were retired 
professional or semi-professional boxers, and to be known as an athlete 
was to be tainted with something of the reputation of a rough. 

A few years later this state of affairs began to change for the better. 
Out of the games of rounders and three old cat developed that of base- 
ball. Then came the civil war, which took a million of men from all 
parts of the land and put them into the field. A large proportion of 
them were city- and town-bred, used to the comforts and luxuries of 
life rather than its hardships. All had to yield to discipline, and those 
who had been reared in the lap of luxury had, equally with those fairly 
well-to-do, to share with the poorest recruit the dangers, the privations, 
and the exposures of the camp, the march, and the battle-field. More 
died of hardship than perished by the sword or the bullet, but the 
great mass of those who went through the war unscathed returned to 
their homes, when gentle Peace had again spread her white wings over 
the land, far more rugged in body and mind than when they donned 
the blue or the gray. They had, too, unconsciously imbibed a love for 
physical strife and out-door exercise which, very fortunately, found a 
peaceful vent in athletics. 

What middle-aged man does not feel the blood tingle in his veins 
when he remembers the triumphal tour of the famous Red Stockings,’^ 
who went through the land from the Atlantic to the Pacific without 
losing a game during the entire season ? To base-ball more than to 
any other game is due the present love for sport which is almost 
universal in the United States, and to base-ball is primarily due not 
only much of the improvement in the physical condition of the 
American man and woman, but also the Sporting Editor. 

To be competent to be at the head of the sporting department of a 
great daily newspaper, nowadays, a man must be thoroughly acquainted 
with a great variety of games and sports. In aquatics he must be 
familiar with yachts and yachting, from the establishment of the 
Water Club of Cork, the oldest yachting-club in the world, down to 
the latest performance of Gossoon or of Vamoose and Norwood. 

He must be well informed on rowing, and be able to write interest- 
ingly on the introduction of the outrigger and the sliding seat, as well 
as of the styles and performances of Hanlan, of Courtney, of Renfrew, 
or of Kemp. Of canoeing and swimming he must be equally intelli- 
gent. 

Ball games he must know thoroughly, and base-ball, cricket, lawn 
tennis, la crosse, hand-ball, foot-ball, polo, billiards, and bowling, claim 
much of his attention. Of these base-ball is the most important. It 
is the national game,^^ and its politics is as intricate, as subtle, and 
often as difficult of comprehension as is the policy of either of the 
great national parties. He must either personally or through his sub- 
ordinates know the magnates,’^ the managers, and the players of the 
game, intimately, if he would not be left behind in the race for news. 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 


635 


for personal gossip of the doings of the diamond has as much interest 
for the average base-ball crank as has gossip of society or of the stage 
for the average reader. Thousands of men who never spoke a word 
to big Captain Anson and never expect to are fully aware of his pecu- 
liarities and of his shrewdness in business as well as in his chosen pro- 
fession ; and they are equally intimate with King Kelley, Buck Ewing, 
and Johnny Ward, thanks to the persistent paragrapher. As a matter 
of fact, half of the interest in base-ball is due to the descriptive work 
of the talented men who write of it and of those who play it as a 
means of livelihood. 

It is the same with turf matters. Thanks to the ubiquitous race- 
writer, the public is kept pretty thoroughly informed not only as to 
the doings of the kings and queens of the course, their work and their 
performances, their outgoings and incomings, but also of the personal 
appearance and peculiarities of the men who breed, own, train, and run 
them. They know exactly what manner of ‘‘ boy^^ rides them, and 
often a great deal about those who bet on them as well. Much of 
this information is obtained with great difficulty; for horse-owners, 
especially the more aristocratic of them, like Fred Gebhard, Pierre 
Lorillard, A. J. Cassatt, and John Hunter, have an idea, derived from 
the English most probably, that their horses are their private property 
and that the public has no right to ask for information about them. 
The late August Belmont, who was one of the shining lights of the 
American turf, once told a man, in my hearing, who rashly asked him 
if a colt he had in a race ^^had a chance, Sir, you have no right to 
ask me such a question. When you see a horse of mine named as a 
starter on a race-card, your only presumption should be that I think 
he has a chance of winning or I would not permit him to go to the post, 
that all has been done that is possible to prepare him for his task, and 
that every effort will be made to land him a winner. Any other 
inference, sir, is an insult, whether intended or not.^^ Unfortunately 
for the turf, all owners of horses are not as high-minded and as 
honorable as was Mr. Belmont. More’s the pity. 

The opportunities for cheating on a race-track are so many and the 
rewards are so large and immediate that it is a wonder that there is 
not more of it than there is. There would be, but for the sporting 
writer. He prowls around the stables, the saddling-paddock, the 
betting-ring, and the judges’ stand. He circulates freely through 
the grand stand and the club-house. He has a large and valuable 
acquaintance with owners, trainers, rubbers, jockeys, betters, and book- 
makers. He can tell at a glance whether a horse looks fit or not, and 
by the aid of the most powerful field-glasses he follows every move- 
ment in a race from start to finish. Almost as good a judge of pace 
as Jimmy McLaughlin or Isaac Murphy, many times he can foretell 
the winner, with wonderful accuracy, before half the distance has been 
covered. He often does even better than this, and ^^tips” him in the 
morning issue of his paper. A glance suffices to tell him if a horse 
has been stiffened,” and clever indeed must that jockey be who can 
pull or misride a horse without his eager eye detecting him. 

The capable turf reporter is wonderfully well informed in his 


636 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 


specialty. He knows race-horses as thoroughly as an ordinary man 
knows his friends and acquaintances, and can recognize them at a 
glance as readily. I know at least six young men, connected with the 
sporting departments of New York dailies, who can name at sight 
almost any ordinarily well-known horse at work, even though he be 
hooded and blanketed from nose to tail. Every horse has his pecu- 
liarity of stride, just as every man has his own peculiar method of 
walking, and in some mysterious way this peculiarity impresses itself 
on the brain of the observant writer. 

By the way, few people have a correct idea of the manner in which 
a horse-race is reported. No man can chew meal and whistle at the 
same time/^ and no reporter, no matter how competent, can watch a 
field of six or more horses through a race and then from memory write 
a correct account of it. He might give the main features ; but he does 
not trust to his memory, but summons to his aid an assistant, who is 
known as a caller.^^ This gentleman watches the contest from start 
to finish through the aid of a powerful field-glass, meanwhile describing 
it to the reporter at his side, who places^’ the horses at the start and 
at every important intermediate point of the contest to the finish, 
between-times keeping his eyes on the contestents. From the data thus 
procured the report of the race is written. Ninety times out of a 
hundred, if printed verbatim it would be much more interesting than 
its substitute. 

Here is about the way a caller describes a race. The horses are 
at the starting-post, and he is watching them intently. They are 
marshalled into line. Suddenly three or four of them shoot out in front 
as if fired from catapults, while the others stand still or wheel around. 

No go he remarks, disgustedly, as he takes his glasses from his 
eyes, which he wipes tenderly and carefully, for it is a great strain on 
the optics to use field-glasses steadily, day by day, week in and month 
out. Back canter the horses, and again, often with great difficulty, 
something like a line is formed. The caller is alert. Suddenly they 
move forward as if impelled by one common impulse. They’re off,” 
he cries, and as the words leave his lips the starter’s flag falls. It 
was rather a ragged send-off, too,” he adds, ‘‘ for Sumatra wasn’t up 
with her company, and Hamlet balked. Rosarium leads, with Baking 
Powder and Pearl River next. The favorite’s in the ruck, running 
easy.” For a few moments he is silent, but he has his eyes strained on 
the swiftly-speeding horses, and as they reach the first quarter-pole he 
gives tongue again, calling out, Baking Powder first by a neck, 
Rosarium half a length. Ginger Blue, Mandolin, Thomas Scott, Pearl 
River, Hamlet, Desdemona, and Sumatra.” These positions of the 
contestants are duly recorded by the reporter, who between writing and 
listening watches the race. As the horses move up to the half-mile 
post the caller exclaims, as he sees a bit of bad jockeyship, That 
monkey Bambelton, on Hamlet, can’t ride a goat. He’s choking the 
tongue out of the horse.” Some eager better who has got into the line 
eagerly asks, ‘^Where’s Ginger Blue?” ‘‘He’s third now,” is the 
answer, “ and he’s running well. He’s not been touched yet, and his 
mouth’s open.” Now they’re passing the half-mile post, and he calls 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 


637 


out, Mandolin ahead before Baking Powder, who is a neck in front 
of Ginger Blue, who is heading the ruck/^ Into the upper turn they 
round, and now the boys’^ prepare to hustle. There goes Thomas 
Scott,^^ warns the caller, as the horse moves up towards the leaders. 

Bennett better watch out. He^s making his run too soon.^^ A second 
later he cries, Into the stretch, it^s Ginger Blue, Pearl Biver, and 
Baking Powder. Hamlet swung very wide making the turn.^^ Now 
the horses are thundering down to their goal, and the caller is all eyes. 
Half-way home, the reporter says, Gimme the first three.^^ Ginger 
Blue, Rosarium, and Baking Powder, is his response. Then he adds. 
Here comes Sumatra.^^ The next second he gleefully exclaims. 
Why, she wins in a walk.^^ As he lays his glasses down to watch 
the finish, Sumatra comes away from the others with ease, and Hamlet 
and Thomas Scott dash after her. The race has now settled down into 
a contest between these three. The jockey of Sumatra rides as though 
he is oblivious of the existence of any other horse in the world except 
the one he is bestriding. His supporters yell at him franticly, but he 
takes no heed of them. Nearer and nearer draw Hamlet and Scott, 
who are now nose and nose. Just when it looks as though Sumatra 
surely must be overtaken, her jockey slyly digs his steel-pointed heels 
into the sides of his filly. She darts forward as though electrified, and 
the next second the caller announces, Sumatra wins by a neck, Scott 
second, a head before Hamlet third. Ginger Blue, Rosarium, Mando- 
lin, Desdemona, Baking Powder next, and Pearl River last.^^ As the 
numbers of the horses which ran first, second, and third, and the 
names of their jockeys, are hoisted on the telegraph-boards, the caller 
sagely observes, Bennett is a good jockey, but I don’t like his grand- 
stand finishes. He held that filly in ’most too long. I thought they 
were going to nip him right under wire.” 

If man were constant he were perfect,” says some old philosopher 
whose name has slipped my memory. If turf writers would not bet 
on the races they report, they would be not only much richer in pocket 
at the end of a season, but much more valuable to their journals and 
the public which buys and reads their papers, than they are. In say- 
ing this I do not wish to have it inferred for a moment that any racing 
writer that I know is willingly influenced by his winnings or his losings 
in writing his reports ; I know that in many cases men who have lost 
fifty or a hundred dollars on a race write very fairly of it ; but this I 
do say, and it is the result of twenty years of observation, that men 
who bet on events that they have to chronicle are unintentionally in- 
fluenced by their profits or losses, and their reports ultimately show it. 
A man may lose fifty dollars on a horse and write a fairly truthful 
account of the race for the next issue of his paper. Then he will hear 
some story of crookedness on the part of some one who had to do with 
the horse either as jockey, trainer, owner, or backer, and it will make 
a deeper impression on him than it would if he had let the animal, in 
the parlance of the betting ring, run loose,” — that is, unbacked. The 
next time the horse runs, or it may be for a number of times subse- 
quently, he watches him, and those he has heard the evil stories of, 
most critically, and should the horse win he is sure to feel that his 


638 


THE SPORTING EDITOR, 


suspicions have been corroboratai and that the horse was pulled or 
otherwise prevented .from winning when he backed him. Then he 
opens up the vials of his wrath, and just as often without due cause as 
with, for the horse may have been short of work, or may have been 
pocketed, or may have been thrown out of his stride by stepping on 
a stone or into a little rut in the track, or his jockey may have mis- 
judged the way to ride him and may have called on him too soon or 
too late, or in some other of the hundred possible ways the horse may 
have lost the race the reporter bet on honestly, for even the Scriptures 
tell us that the race is not always to the swift but the man who 
backs horses upon his own judgment or upon information furnished him 
from inside sources is very prone to believe stories which absolve his 
vanity or his belief from the discredit of being incorrect. In like 
manner a man who has won money on a horse will feel disinclined to 
believe stories about crookedness in a race. He has profited by the 
result, and is thus to a certain extent particeps criminis. Of course if 
the evidenc’e is indisputable or is from a source so high or reputable that 
it cannot be overlooked, he will write of it, but, even if he does, not 
with the vigor or force which would characterize his utterances were he 
a loser instead of a gainer by the race. 

In stating these unpleasant truths I do not want to be hard on my 
fellow-scribes, but I will remind them that no judge of a court is per- 
mitted to sit in a case in which he has the slightest pecuniary interest, 
nor is a juror allowed to pass his judgment in a case of the kind. 
Certainly, if it is thought wise to keep judges and jurors, in ordinary 
cases, free from temptation, the same rule should apply to reporters, 
who are the eyes of the great mass of the public and see things for it. 
I remember a lecture I once heard Amos J. Cummings give a fledgling 
reporter whom he was sending on an important assignment. Said he, 
I want you to bring me back the facts, and nothing but the facts. If 
your orthography or syntax is defective it can be corrected here in the 
office, but you must bear in mind that a hundred tliousand patrons of 
the Sun will have to see this thing through your eyes : therefore I want 
your report of it to be a pen photograph of what occurs, and not a 
distorted one either. Focus on facts, and you will be all right.’^ So 
in kindness, not in anger or in malice, I say to all sporting writers. 
Never bet a cent on an event you have to write about.^^ The fact 
that men who are members of Boards of Control or racing stewards 
and even race judges bet on races should not influence you to follow 
their bad example. Then you can point out to them that they should 
set a better example, and be, like Caesar’s wife, above suspicion.” 
Besides, you will have more money at the end of the season, and you 
will not be under obligations for tips to jockeys, trainers, owners, or 
stablemen. 

The sporting editor and reporter meet many strange characters and 
see many strange sights while in pursuit of news. I know of three 
who have circumnavigated the globe while reporting base-ball games. 
Of the many strange things I have seen in my time, two were par- 
ticularly interesting. Back in the seventies I reported the last fight 
between Billy Edwards and Sam Collier. It was an old-style prize- 


THE SPORTING EDITOR, 


639 


fight, and the rendezvous was Pittsburg. The tip was given that the 
place of departure would be from the levee of Hardscrabble, a short 
distance above the point where the Monongahela and Allegheny join 
and form the Ohio. In order to avoid police interference, we were to 
slip away about midnight. On arriving at the place indicated I found 
that our conveyance was to be an open sand-barge, a very frail species 
of boat, about a hundred and twenty feet long, twenty feet wide, and 
probably four feet deep. She had no deck, and her bow was almost high 
and dry against the shore. Two stalwart fighters kept the gate, or 
rather the gang-plank, and took the tickets of the intending passengers. 
The night was dark, but there was plenty of light from the flames which 
issued from a hundred glass-works, rolling-mills, and blast-furnaces 
along each side of the river. The late James Parton said that Pitts- 
burg at night reminded him of hell with the lid taken oflF.^^ Had he 
been with me that night, no doubt he would have secretly congratulated 
himself on the felicity of his description. 

Those who have attended a prize-fight or a boxing-match know 
that there are always a large number of the impecunious on hand who 
are anxious to see the sport without paying for the privilege. There 
were many such that night, but few of them were able to effect their 
purpose. The ticket-takers gave them but short conference. The 
plank leading to the barge was only wide enough for a single line of 
men ; and if the applicant for passage had neither ticket, its price, nor 
great influence, he was unceremoniously knocked into the water, which 
was at that point about knee-deep. Many were the curses evoked by 
these involuntary baths. The levee was torn up, as it was about to be 
repaired, and a short distance from the boat were a number of piles of 
cobble-stones, or boulders, as they are called in the West. When a 
thousand or more people had been crowded on the boat, and her 
gunner^ at the stern was almost level with the surface of the water, 
a stern-wheel tug came along, fastened a rope to her, and pulled her out 
into the stream. As we left the shore there was a scene of terror 
which I shall never forget if I live to be as old as Methuselah. The 
rejected would-be passengers ran to the cobble-stones, and in an in- 
stant discharged a volley of a hundred or more of them at our boat. 
Nearly every stone took effect, and the air was rent with cries of pain, 
of terror, and of rage. From boat and shore angry curses rang out, 
and the sand-boat would have been sunk through the attempt of her 
occupants to get out of reach of the missiles had not several men on 
the vessel discharged their pistols at the mob on shore and driven it 
helter-skelter up the bank. As it was, a number of people on the boat 
were severely wounded, one so badly hurt that he died of his injuries 
within three days. We hardly escaped one danger before another 
confronted us. The barge was so overloaded that her upper seams 
began leaking, and every time the tug came near us, for the purpose of 
taking off some of our passengers, there was such an attempt to crowd 
towards her as made it evident that we would founder if she came 
alongside. Her captain therefore kept away for twenty or thirty feet 
until ten or twenty of the most determined and able fighters on the 
boat had been arrayed on her bow and instructed to make every one 


640 


THE SPORTING EDITOR. 


keep his place until the tug could fasten to us and take off enough 
people to lighten up the barge out of danger. By the time this had 
been done, we had drifted down to Glass-House Riffle, several miles 
below the city. Then we proceeded on our voyage more comfortably 
and without any fear of immediate death ; but I must say that most 
of the company were of a character one would not care to invite to a 
tea-party. They made the night hideous with their carousing. 

It was midsummer, and the middle, too, of the heated term. When 
daylight broke and the sun arose it was one of the hottest days of the 
year. A place to fight was not obtained until afternoon. Then a glen 
was found right on the boundary-line of Pennsylvania and West Vir- 
ginia, and the ring was pitched in it about a mile back from the river. 
One thoughtful reporter from a Pittsburg paper had a thermometer 
with him, which he fastened to the shady side of a tree. My remem- 
brance is that it indicated 107° Fahrenheit. At all events, it was so hot 
that of the fifteen hundred spectators all but the principals, seconds, offi- 
cials, and reporters took refuge under the trees on the side of the hill 
a hundred or more feet away from the ring. Shortly after the men 
began fighting, a sport who had but one match was about to strike it 
to light his cigar. Another sport ran to him, twisting, as he did so, 
a large piece of newspaper in order that he might get some fire for him- 
self and his friends. When he and his companions had lit their cigars 
he threw the burning paper away from him, and it fell over a fissure 
in the ground some ten or twelve feet distant. Instantly there was a 
report which startled every one, and a sheet of flame shot up in the air 
for a height of at least thirty feet. It continued to blaze and roar all 
through the fight, much to the discomfiture of the pugilists, and it was 
blazing when we left the ground. Few, except a dozen or so Pitts- 
burgers, knew that we were in the natural-gas territory and that we 
had inadvertently set a gas- well ablaze. In those days there was only 
one place in America, East Liverpool, where natural gas was utilized 
to do the work of man. I could have bought the faroi on which this 
fight took place for a few dollars an acre. I have often since regretted 
my lack of foresight. 

About five years ago there was a notable prize-fight between Jack 
Dempsey and Johnny Reagan, which began on a tongue of laud run- 
ning out into Huntington Bay, Long Island. The ring was pitched 
about five o^clock in the morning, but through unnecessary delay the 
men did not enter it until nearly seven. Meanwhile, the tide was 
steadily rising, and by the time the men began to fight it was only a 
foot or two from the ring-stakes. Steadily and quickly it arose, and, 
as the beach was low and flat, it soon invaded one end of the ring. 
The men battled on its highest part for another round, when it, too, 
was covered with water. As Dempsey walked to the scratch, or where 
the scratch was supposed to be, for the third round, he wittily remarked, 
No one ever accused me of taking water before, but I have to now.^^ 
Higher and higher rose the. flood, until spectators as well as fighters 
were more than ankle-deep in the water. As I looked around, Jean 
Ingelow’s line came to me, And all the world was in the sea.^^ The 
men fought until the water was shin-deep, and Reagan was in danger 


THE HOMELESS THOUGHTS. 


641 


of being drowned each time they clinched, as he was invariably thrown. 
Then the referee called a halt, and ordered the men to the tug, and the 
ring to be pulled up, which was done with great difficulty, and soon 
we sped away in search of higher ground. We found it in the shape 
of a picnic grove, and there this most picturesque of prize-battles was 
terminated. 

I know an old sport, formerly a sexton of a prominent high-steepled 
New York church, who was wont, in his days of church-connection, 
occasionally to regale parties of his sporting friends with cock-fights in 
its belfry. He has laughingly told me of many a main he brought off 
there without the slightest fear of police interruption. This certainly 
was a case of the nearer the church the farther from God.^^ I am 
glad to say that nowadays no self-respecting sporting reporter would 
countenance by his presence or his silence any such desecration of a 
holy edifice. 

J. B. McCormick 


THE HOMELESS THOUGHTS. 

U NDER the wild November sky 

Black birds in eddying circles fly ; 

The woods their glittering robes throw by 
And plain to heaven unceasingly. 

Dark to the hill-top stoops the cloud ; 

Bold is the blast that shakes the proud ; 

Now loud, now low, now low, now loud. 

The wanderers^ call comes down to me. 

Like these wild squadrons tossed on high. 
Scattered, confused, they know not why, 

My thoughts, a homeless myriad, fly. 

And beat the winds continually. 

All that of nature’s stamp she wore 
Whose bosom housed their wings of yore. 
Rotting in earth, is mine no more : 

May Heaven restore her soul to me ! 

Dora Read Goodale. 


TO ISABEL. 

Y es, salt tears for the bitter truth, 

’Tis hard, dear heart, so very hard, 
1 sought thee in my early youth. 

And now I find thee locked and barred. 


642 


JN A GONDOLA. 



T)R£MI-£ ! ah, premi T our gondolier cries, raising his dripping 
X oar from the forcola and waiting. 

‘‘ Stdli-^ ! ah, stall comes a voice from the narrow canal into which 
we are about to turn. We are meeting a gondola. In another instant 
the two shining prows rear like serpents as they almost encounter at 
the angle, then smoothly and adroitly slip by each other. For these 
cries, sad, musical, rhythmical, are the Venetian boatmen’s plain direc- 
tions To the right” and To the left” as they pause and hearken at 
the corners of the narrow and intricate canals. The gondola which glides 
past us with its graceful swan-like movement belongs evidently to some 
private family. There are two gondoliers, dressed in spotless jackets 
and trousers of white duck, with long yellow sashes wound round their 
waists, richly fringed, as are the silken scarfs of the same color on their 
broad-brimmed hats. The pale creamy curtains of the awnings are 
parted just far eifough to grant us a single glimpse of a clearly-cut, 
youthful, but melancholy face with eyes like night. This summer- 
fashion of replacing the heavy black felze” (the little house” covered 
with black cloth which is usually set above the seats of the gondola) by 
a light-colored canopy called a tenda” is one of the many innovations 
creeping into Venice, and was at first left exclusively to the public 
gondolas patronized by foreigners and tourists. But it greatly enhances 
the charm of life on the water in pleasant summer weather, permitting 
more light and air. It is, in general, no difficult matter to recognize 
a private gondola from the superior nicety of its equipment and the 
staid demeanor of the boatman or boatmen. Our own Achille, hired 
by the day or the hour, and who runs to meet us whenever we issue 
from our hotel on the Riva dei Schiavoni with an artless, seductive, 
and hopeful air, is a fairly typical example of the professional gondolier, 
and would not be mistaken for a sober family retainer. He takes great 
pride in tlie neatness of his gondola : the ferro (that is, the great steel 
prow cut like a key) is always shining ; the brass sea-horses which 
decorate the arm-rests are well rubbed, the floors scrubbed clean, the 
carpets and cushions well shaken and adjusted, and the awning fresh 


JN A GONDOLA. 


643 


and trim. No New England housekeeper could have a tenderer con- 
science for her possessions than has Achille, and certainly no more frugal 
thrift than he displays, particularly in the matter of his carpets. I 
have discovered that he has three sets : the first, superfine, brand-new 
Brussels, white, scarlet, and gold, which graced our first triumphal entry 
into his gondola, and indeed lent splendor to two or three early days of 
his engagement. Then they gave way to tapestries a trifle faded and 
worn, which themselves yielded in turn to still shabbier ones, which 
were brought on at the faintest sign of bad weather. But unless a gon- 
dolier were frugal, how could he live, when his highest possible wages 
come to a little over a dollar a day? I respect Achille^s economies. 
He himself is a picturesque figure; not tall, but sinewy and slender, 
his body elastic and supple, as a trained gondolier is almost certain to 
be, with an easy play of the hips and limbs. His eyes shine out like 
turquoises from his bronzed face, which is decorated with long mous- 
taches. His white linen suit (occasionally fresh) is set off by a jaunty 
crimson sash, and his best hat has also a red ribbon with streamers ; but 
he reserves his best hat, like his best rugs, for stately occasions. One 
sometimes sees an awkward gondolier, — probably one who did not learn 
the trick of his trade in childhood,— and one then becomes conscious 
of being so habituated to the graceful rhythmical movement that to 
have it disturbed affects the fastidious sense like false time in music. 
For the whole body of a good gondolier is instinct with the motion. 
He stands poised like a Mercury new lighted,’^ and his every mus- 
cle bends at every stroke. One constantly observes boys of seven or 
eight practising at the oar, resting on the forcola (as the hollowed 
rest is called), while the father or some boatman looks on, giving direc- 
tions, occasionally beating time as he calls out, ‘^Uno, due, tre.^^ An 
unpractised hand would soon find difficulties and dangers in winding 
through the narrow tortuous canals, but with a trained gondolier the 
art is delightfully invisible, the boat is so absolutely pliant to the 
master^s hand ; it obeys the least turn of the wrist, and moves on as 
easily and as silently as the waters which ebb and flow. The gondolier 
stands out of sight ; the view of palace after palace with its wealth 
of sculptured frieze or its foliated arches, or across the shimmering 
distances of the lagoons, is wholly unimpeded. Nothing disturbs the 
comfort, the harmony, the sense of ease, pleasantness, and charm. As 
we near the marble steps of our landing-place, all danger of even a 
jar is warded off, for some lounger on the riva, eager for one or two 
sous, runs towards us with a boat-hook and carefully draws the gondola 
to the stairs. People with fragile hearts ought to live in Venice, away 
from the daily hairbreadth escapes and shocks to nerves which beset 
one in places where the prowling cab haunts,*waylays, and pursues. By 
a delightful paradox, the brazen horses of St. Markus preside over the 
one city where there are no horses. 

A gondola is at once so original in its design, so peculiar and in a 
way so beautiful, that one ponders the mystery of its invention, or per- 
haps more properly its evolution, for old pictures show that it has put 
on many different fashions in different centuries. Its form never ceases 
to suggest to me that of a swan, as does also its graceful, high-bred move- 


644 


IN A GONDOLA. 


ment. Certainly the idea of such a boat could only have been de- 
veloped among born lovers of the exotic, the rare, who possessed a 
distinct artistic faculty for assimilating and making practical use of 
all that could enhance the beauty and stateliness of daily life. In spite 
of the suggestion of a highly-wrought almost romantic ideal of patri- 
cian seclusion and luxury in the gondola, each detail of its construc- 
tion might be said to have some practical purpose, except that its 
history shows that it has been modified in each generation. For exam- 
ple, it seems as if the lofty prow, invariably an inch or two above the 
body of the gondola, might be for the object of measuring the height 
of the many bridges, enabling the gondolier to tell at a glance 
whether his boat can pass beneath. But then in Carpaccio’s and Gentile 
Bellini’s exact transcriptions of Venetian life in the fifteenth century 



there are two of these steel ferri, one at the prow and the other at the 
stern. And this fact makes it also doubtful whether the original 
intention of the heavy steel ferro was to have it act as a balance, which 
now appears to be its purpose. One thing is, however, certain, that 
the gondola is as felicitous an evolution out of conditions and environ- 
ment as is the light canoe which Adirondack guides pick up at the 
shore of the lake they have crossed and carry on to the next sheet 
of water. And the gondola is something essential, permanent, which 
belongs to Venice and must belong while Venice lasts, not something 
which supersedes other inventions and must in time be superseded. 

The little steamers which ply between landings on the Grand Canal 
and the Lido in warm weather, taking multitudes of people across to 
bathe in the sea and to dine and sup at the great restaurant, have, it 
is true, injured the trade of the gondoliers, but it was inevitable that 
some of the ugly but practically useful inventions of the nineteenth 
century should invade Venice. And, prosaic as such means of transit 
may be compared with gliding about in a gondola, the little trip to the 
Lido by steamboat is very pleasant, whether or not one bathes in the 


IN A GONDOLA. 


645 


Adriatic. For those who swim — and all Venetians do — the Lido offers 
an ideal bathing-place. The water is comparatively shallow, but full of 
life and motion and of a delicious temperature. The bathing-costume 
is not so elaborated as to hide the well-knit proportions of the men and 
youth, whose dignity and repose even in violent action suggest sculp- 
ture. While they plunge, dive, swing on the trapeze, swim and float 
in the foreground, it is pleasant — sitting on the broad open gallery of 
the great restaurant — to look beyond them off to sea, where flshing- 
boats and larger craft, like a flock of birds of gorgeous plumage, cross 



and re-cross each other against the line where the blue waters meet the 
iridescent opal vapors of the far horizon. The variegated sails of the 
Adriatic boats, orange, saffron, and crimson, at first take the eye with 
the charm of the unexpected, then seem to satisfy a real need for bright 
color which insensibly grows on one in Venice. Sometimes the sails 
show a whole field of pure tint, again they are checkered like a chess- 
board, and often a circle or an angle is painted in a contrasting hue, 
and this is adorned with a picture of the Madonna or of some patron 
saint. Like a flock of flamingoes, a flotilla from Eastern ports will 
bear down on Venice with the rising tide, and when once moored the 
variety of different-colored rags the sailors hang out to dry on the rig- 
ging or the sides of the sloops and barques is beyond enumeration, 
while their possible use defies the imagination. They help, however, 
to give picturesqueness to the wharves, each of which is a study, with 
its tangle of masts and bowsprits, with here and there a drooping half- 
furled crimson- or saffron -colored sail. 

Many as go to the Lido to bathe, it is but a small proportion of the 
Venetians who feel it necessary to be at such expense when they are in 
VoL. L.— 41 


646 


IN A GONDOLA. 


the mood for a plunge. The narrow water-ways often swarm with 
bathers. It might seem as if the boys are at least amphibious, if they 
do not in summer live altogether in the water. An infant is taught to 
swim as it is taught to walk. The merest babies are carefully secured 
with bands and ropes, and dipped into the canal and drawn backward 
and forward by father or mother, who stands on the lowest stair, ready 
to repress rising terrors with smiles and words of encouragement, and 
occasionally drawing the little creature up for a caress, then relentlessly 
putting it back into the water to enforce the lesson. As soon as the 
child gains familiarity with the new element, the next step is to give it 
a plank to hold to and float by. 

But as one glides through these narrow^ water-ways’’ by which the 
gondolier likes to make many a short cut,” it is clear that in Venice, 
as elsewhere, it is only the few who have leisure to be idle. Boats full 
of garden- and orchard-produce are drawn up here and there at the 
steps, and while the dealers balance aloft their vegetables and fruit, 
shrilly declaiming on their merits, men and women, pannikins in hand, 
appear at windows and door- ways and on the stairs, screaming in unison, 
each side trying to beat in the bargain and each apparently feeling 
him- or herself worsted and outwutted. Just as the clamor becomes 
fiercest, all turns out amicably, to the relief of the looker-on, and all 
alike are well suited. Fruit-stalls are everywhere, and a few sous will 
buy such quantities of delicious cherries and apricots that an American 
is confounded but delighted by such an experience of Arcady. Pears 
and plums, now early in July, are beginning to be plentiful, and a little 
later pomegranates, figs, and grapes will be offered in still greater pro- 
fusion. There is no scarcity of fruit in Venice, nor of vegetables and 
shell-fish at low prices. Cooling drinks, lemonade, tamarind- water, 
and a singular mixture of vinegar and water, are sold in little canopied 
counters on all sides. Poor as the masses of people undoubtedly are, 
there are few or no signs of actual destitution. Their ideas hinge on 
their means, and a few sous make any one of them enthusiastically 
grateful. On one of the bridges just below the Ducal Palace may be 
seen a man from morning almost till midnight offering boxes of wax 
matches. Candele, candele, candele,” his voice is heard perpetually, 
with a note of hopefulness as you approach. How thankful he is to 
dispose of four sous’ worth ! Over the bridges in the minor streets are 
always hurrying women, in kerchiefs of orange and crimson, with a 
yoke on their shoulders ftom which depend the copper vessels in which 
they carry water from the frequent wells which supply the household 
needs of the poorer classes. These wells, with their beautifully carven 
stone curbs, are sometimes in open squares, and again in the quadrangle 
of convents and monasteries. One in the cloisters of the Frari is of 
immense depth, and to and from it one sees a constant stream of women 
and children, who bear the yoke with an ease and often a grace which 
make it — especially when the copper vessels are well scoured — a really 
pretty adjunct. 

As we float through these narrow canals between tall houses which 
shut out the light even at noonday, we catch glimpses of Rembrandt- 
like interiors, and of workers in gold, silver, and bronze, lace-makers. 


IN A GONDOLA, 


647 


and stringers of beads, pursuing their craft, each figure against a back- 
ground where there is certain to be some beautiful detail, — a wreath 
of flowers with a child^s face, the figure of an animal enclosed in the 
fillet, a fading fresco, a carven portal, arched casement, or Gothic gateway, 
— which is sure to touch our quickened aesthetic sense. The workers 
transfer their attention to us for an instant with a bright interested 
look, then resume their occupation. To an American eye there is rarely 
what we call beauty in the faces, but almost invariably a fine serious- 
ness and an air of intelligence which are attractive. 



It is well to have reached Venice a little weary of sight-seeing in 
general, with a desire to regather strength and freshness of the mind 
and senses before one tries to ‘^do^^ the city. And it is safe to decide 
that, in spite of the marvels of Titian and Tintoretto, nothing in Venice 
is half so beautiful as Venice itself and the impressions it gives. The 
points of divergence from all to which we are accustomed give us just 
the requisite excuse, if one needed an apology for studying the most 
superficial manifestations of a life perfectly simple and natural, yet 
resting on conditions so artificial as to seem almost incredible. More 
and more as one watches the rise and ebb of the tide washing over the 
steps of the palaces, the crawling crabs on the foundations sunning 
themselves in the sea-weeds just above the water-line, the wonder 
grows that these shifting sands could ever have been chosen as the fit- 
ting home of human beings. And let wiseacres enumerate as they 
may the early conditions which first set the foundations of Venice in 
the waves, no explanation wholly accounts for the permanence of the 


648 


IN A GONDOLA. 


idea which led to her development and to its poetic embodiment in the 
Doge’s annual espousal of the sea. But then it is no easy matter to 
account for anything in the world best worth having, on the mere logi- 
cal system that two and two make four. Inexorable logic is useful in 
its way, but imagination has always been the shaping form behind 
events, an imagination often more lofty and more deep than the con- 
sciousness of the men whose thoughts and actions have moulded the 
notable epochs of history. 

If one enters Venice by night when the moon is making a path of 
silver down the Grand Canal, flooding with light the palaces whose 
dazzling reflections in the w^ater render it hard to tell where the reality 
ends and the image begins, piercing the dim mazes of the side-canals, 
lifting the Rialto into heights of ethereal splendor, and transforming 
into fairy-like structures even the little bridges, one has, of course, 
seen the sea-city in a way that fills and enchants. Black gondolas 
with a lamp at their prow steal silently out of the shadows, draw up 
at marble stairs for a single figure to alight, then pass again into shadow. 
What silence, what mystery, what beauty ! Even on a night without 
a moon, Venice is full of charm. The familiar domes, turrets, bell- 
towers, are etched against the dark-blue star-spangled sky ; the lights 
on the Piazzetta twinkle magically ; from the Piazza comes a strain 
played by horns and clarionets, breathing the human passion and feel- 
ing of the moving crowds going up and down the square and the 
groups eating ices at Florian’s ; the boats hang up their blue and crim- 
son cressets flickering in long lines across the bay ; the men-of-war in 
the harbor send up signal- rockets which seem to run along the rigging 
as they gem the night with violet, gold, white, and scarlet ; the evening 
gun sounds from the training-ship, and around us blows the wind from 
the Adriatic which the fishermen say is the sea calling.” 

But, in spite of the subtle beauty of these impressions, one really 
sees Venice only when one sees her color. Yet perhaps on coming 
down the Grand Canal at mid-day, one’s consciousness is not so abso- 
lutely of intense color as of translucence. All the surfaces seem to 
give out vibrations of light. The water, the palaces, the sky, the 
farthest reaches of the lagoons, are all opalescent. 

But fairest to me was Venice one afternoon towards sunset, when I 
was returning in a gondola from the Lido. Midway in crossing the 
bay Achille dropped his oar, and for a time we floated with a feeling 
of being suspended between the gently-heaving sea of glass and the 
far-off sky, each suffused with softest rose-color. In front of us was 
Venice, the iridescent domes and minarets of St. Mark’s seeming to be 
drawn np into the amber and crimson of the sunset, the lovely outlines 
intensified and etherealized. Dark and rayless the Campanile reared 
its solemn height above the aerial mosque, and all the many turrets and 
spires and towers of the city that took shape against the mellow blend- 
ings of the west. Then at our left across the sea of rose and pearl 
rose the Euganean Hills, their pyramids, towers, and cones standing 
out in clear relief above the shining water-line against the gem-like 
blue of the sky. 


Ellen Olney Kirk. 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


649 


GEOliGE S. PATTERSON. 



CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 

[athletic series.] 

I N the last ten years cricket in the United States has advanced de- 
cidedly, both in the increase of public interest and in the higher 
character of form^^ shown by cricketers. 

Interest in the game is becoming more wide-spread, and Boston 
and Chicago, at least on their own grounds, have proved themselves 
worthy foemen of Philadelphia. This last-named city has been the 
stronghold of cricket for over thirty years, from the days of the old 
Camden ground of the P. C. C. to the present reign of Manheim. In 
this city, Robert S. Newhall was the first American cricketer to show 
that it was possible to make runs against a foreign team even if it did 
have among the eleven one of the best bowlers the world has ever seen, 
and the possibility of this was again demonstrated in the recent matches 
of Lord Hawkers team in Philadelphia. The reason of Philadelphia’s 
lead in the cricket world over its sister cities is not hard to discover : 
the clubs here are richer, and in consequence the grounds are better and 
more attractive ; and again in Philadelphia the development of native 
talent comes first, while in other cities the importation of foreign talent 
would seem to exclude any native development. Boston, New York, 


650 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


and Chicago all depend for their strength upon Englishmen, while a 
Philadelphia team is composed entirely of Americans, and young ones 
at that. Of course the chief interest among the followers of the game 
in this country has been in the visits of foreign teams here, and the 
two trips of the Gentlemen of Philadelphia to England. 

English teams have visited us in 1859, 1868, 1872, 1879, 1882, 
1885, 1886, and 1891. The Australians have played here in 1878 
and 1882, while the Irish Gentlemen have paid two visits to this 
country, the first in 1879 and the second in 1888. Of the different 
matches played by these teams in Philadelphia, five have been victories 
for the Gentlemen of Philadelphia, — viz., the three matches with the 
Gentlemen of Ireland, the first match against Parson Thornton^s team 
in 1885, and the first match against Lord Hawkes’ team in 1891, 
while one match, the memorable one against the first Australian team 
in 1878, ended in a draw. Perhaps the most remarkable performances 
in these matches on the Philadelphia side have been the bowling of C. A. 
Newhall and Spencer Meade against the English teams of 1868 and 
1872; the bowling of E. W. Clark, Jr., in 1879 against the English 
professionals; P. S. NewhalPs innings of eighty-four against the first 
Australian team, and his thirty-odd in the English match of 1882; 
J. B. Thayer, Jr.^s forty against the pick of the English professional 
bowling in 1882, and R. D. Brown’s sixty-two not-out on that mem- 
orable September afternoon last fall when S. M. J. Woods took to 
lobs” in desperation.* The most sensational finishes in these matches 
were in the two matches against the Irish Gentlemen in 1888, the first 
match being won by seven runs, thanks to Brockie’s wonderful fielding 
at silly point,” and in the second match the last Irish wicket fell on 
the next to last ball of the last over of the match, as it was within half 
a minute of the time when stumps were to be drawn. This match will 
also always be remembered by cricketers in Philadelphia on account of 
Captain Cronin’s generosity and sportsmanship in hurrying his men to 
the wickets so as to finish the match before time was called, he even 
going so far as to send the last man in without any leg guards, in order 
to prevent the delay resulting from putting them on. 

The Gentlemen of Philadelphia have twice visited England, once 
in 1884 and the second time in 1889, and it was the unanimous opinion 
that the second team showed a great improvement in form over that 
displayed by the first team, although it was not as strongly representa- 
tive of Philadelphia cricket. The 1884 team were hampered by the 
fact that C. A. Newhall, their crack fast bowler, injured himself while 
practising just before the trip began, and was never in his old form 
again. In that team three men, J. A. Scott, R. S. Newhall, and J. B. 
Thayer, Jr., were far ahead of the rest of the team in batting, both in 
consistent form and in the averages. W. C. Lowry bowled wonder- 
fully well all through the trip, and W. C. Morgan, Jr., gave him 
splendid support behind the wickets. The 1889 team were greatly 
hampered by three facts : first, they had only one wicket-keeper, and it 
was impossible for him to stand the strain of so much hard work; in 
the second place, there were fourteen men of the team, which was just 
two too many, as three men had to be laid off every match, and the 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES, 


651 


constant fear and suspense rendered the last four or five men when they 
did play practically useless so far as their batting was concerned; 
thirdly, three of the team, who were taken for their bowling alone, 
proved great disappointments, and the bulk of the bowling fell on 
the men who were also expected to make most of the runs. The 
fielding also was not up to the mark. But, on the whole, the team 
played very good cricket, and their batting was much more consistent, 
considering the quality of the bowling, than that of the 1884 team, and 
indeed the averages of the first five men in 1889 were much above the 
corresponding averages in 1884. 

When the next team is chosen to visit England, let twelve men 
be chosen, together with a scorer who could play if necessary, and by 
all means have more than one wicket-keeper. Let them play three 
three-day matches every two weeks, 
and against the following teams if 
possible : Oxford University, Cam- 
bridge University, I Zingari, 

Marylebone C. C., Gentlemen of 
Surrey, Gentlemen of Kent, Gen- 
tlemen of Gloucestershire, Gentle- 
men of Lancashire, Hampshire, 

Warwickshire, and Leicestershire. 

In the last three matches they 
would have a chance of getting 
some professional bowling, and 
also, what is very important, have 
some chance of winning. I have 
never believed in the theory that as 
a means of education it would be 
advisable to play the full strength 
of the first-class counties, as the 
results of the matches would be 
only too discouraging. 

During the winter of 1891, Mr. 

Thomas Wharton, of Philadelphia, 
devised the plan of an inter-city 
league comprising Baltimore, Bos- 
ton, New York, and Philadelphia 
in the East, and Detroit, Chicago, and Pittsburg in the West. 

Philadelphia won from Baltimore, and Boston, thanks to the 
bowling of Chambers and some fine batting by J. H. Thorpe and 
H. McNutt, had an easy victory against New York, while in the 
West Detroit proved no match for Chicago. As Philadelphia and 
Boston had won their respective matches, it lay between them as to 
who should play Chicago for the championship, the Pittsburg-Chicago 
match having fallen through on account of a mutual misunderstanding. 

Philadelphia were again the victors, thanks to their splendid fielding 
and some good batting by Wood, Coates, and Harry Thayer, although 
Chambers bowled splendidly for Boston. The Chicago-Philadelphia 
match was arranged for the second week in September, and, as teams 



W. G. GRACE. 


652 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


from the Germantown and Belmont clubs had been both easily beaten 
in Chicago during the summer, a close match was anticipated ; but Phil- 
adelphia got the best of the wicket, and won by an inning and three 
hundred and fifty- nine runs. 

The annual international match between Canada and the United 
States was played at Toronto on the worst wicket it has ever been my 
privilege to see, and was won by the United States by thirty-eight runs, 
the victory being due to the splendid batting of Joseph H. Patterson 
in both innings, ably aided by H. C. Thayer in the second inning. 
Missionary cricket is beginning to play an important part in the Phila- 
delphia season. Last year the Belmont and Germantown clubs sent 
visiting teams throughout the country, the Belmont trip comprising 
Pittsburg, Chicago, and Detroit, while the Germantown Eleven not 
only played in those cities, but also against Toronto, Rosedale, and 
Hamilton. The Rosedale Eleven will always have cause to remember 
the cricket season of 1891, as in that year they had the pleasure of 
fielding while the Germantown Eleven scored six hundred and thirty- 
one in one inning and two hundred and fifty for three wickets in another. 
It is to be hoped that this missionary cricket will be kept up, as Phila- 
delphia owes a duty to cricketers throughout the country in this respect. 
Cricket in other cities, as I said before, depends for its strength upon 
foreign talent, and this is one great element of weakness, as they have 
no younger element from which they can draw if necessary. 

Boston on its own ground has one of the strongest elevens in the 
country, thanks to the indefatigable energy of George Wright, Lott 
Mansfield, and C. E. Mixer. On the Longwood wicket, Chambers is, 
in my opinion, the most dangerous bowler in this country, and on any 
wicket would rank with H. P. Baily, H. I. Brown, E. W. Clark, Jr., 
M. R. Cobb, Lane, and Pacey. Of New York cricket at present it is 
very difficult to form a satisfactory opinion, as there have been so few 
matches between the New York and Philadelphia clubs in the last few 
years. M. R. Cobb, the New York crack, I have never had the pleasure 
of seeing, but, judging by his performances, he must be a wonderfully 
good all-round man, and one of the best in this country ; and in Tyers 
the Manhattan have the best professional bat in the United States. 
Cricket in Baltimore has been steadily maintained by the untiring efforts 
of Tunstall Smith and a few others, but their lack of material has pre- 
vented them from keeping pace with the development in the cricket 
line with other cities. In Tunstall Smith they have a first-class bowler ; 
and if the interest of the juniors can only be stirred up, cricket should 
never die out in Baltimore. In the West, the advance of cricket in the 
last few years has been very marked. Detroit, Chicago, Pullman, and 
Pittsburg all have clubs, although at the present time the interest in the 
game at Pittsburg is at a very low ebb. The grounds in Detroit, Pull- 
man, and Pittsburg are all very good, especially that of the latter city, 
which has as good a wicket as I know of in this country. Among its 
individual players, Chicago can boast of the best left-hand bat and one 
of the best all-round men in the country, Dr. E. R. Ogden. F. Kelly 
has the reputation of being the best bowler in the West. He is left- 
hand, very fast, with good command over the ball, and when the wicket 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


653 


suits him he is certainly very dangerous, but on a good wicket, in my 
opinion, he is not as useful as Dr. Ogden. Bradley, the Chicago pro- 
fessional, is a good bat, a first-class wicket-keep, and a useful bowler, 
while the club also contains two other run-getting bats in McPherson 
and Wright. 

The bowling and fielding of the Pullman Eleven is their strongest 
point, and has usually enabled them to win from Chicago, although 
last year the tables were turned. Dale, Rogers, J. Cummings, and T. 
Langham make a strong quartette of bowlers, while Rogers and Cum- 
mings are also consistent scorers for them. The success of the Pullman 
Eleven in its matches for the local championship of Chicago has been 
in a great measure due to the coaching of Armitage, the old Yorkshire 
professional. 

Detroit last year had a much weaker team than either Chicago or 
Pittsburg, bat in S. Atkinson they had a first-class bat, and in Hum- 
phrey Roberts a very reliable bowler. Their grounds are the grounds 
of the Detroit Athletic Club, the match wickets being very good, and, 
as the grounds are almost in the centre of the city, there is no reason 
why the game should not flourish there. Captain Charles A. Vernou, 
of the old Young America Eleven, and F. Bamford, who was a member 
of the Peninsular team, have been both working hard for the success 
of the game in that city. Cricket in Pittsburg has had a precarious ex- 
istence, and is chiefly dependent upon the efforts of Mr. J. E. Schwartz, 
the president of the club, who has given his time and money freely to 
the support of the club. The strength of the team has almost always 
depended upon Englishmen resident in Pittsburg, and at different times 
they have had very strong teams. The two Stratfords, W. Pyatt, A. 
MacPherson, Harvey Penn, Walter Scott of the Belmont, A. S. Valen- 
tine of the Germantown, J. K. Horn, and F. N. Schwartz have repre- 
sented the club, and in 1883 and 1884 they had an eleven which was 
in all probability as good as any in the country. Lack of match- 
practice (there being only one other club in Pittsburg, and that only 
able to cope with the second eleven of the older club) accounts in a 
great measure for the falling off in the strength of the eleven. In A. 
S. Valentine and F. N. Schwartz they have two very promising young 
bats, and with more match-practice both would become first-class. 
Walter Scott, Harvey Penn, and J. K. Horn are all, when in practice, 
first-class batsmen, and in Penn, Scott, and Borroughs, the club pro- 
fessional, they have a very useful trio of bowlers. 

In Philadelphia the interest in cricket has been steadily increasing 
from year to year, and at the close of last year it had reached a height 
which had never been attained before. Not only is the number of clubs 
increasing, but the standard of play has improved wonderfully in the 
last ten years. Where there was one first-class bat then there are five 
now, and the bowling and fielding have improved proportionally. The 
Germantown C. C., whose beautiful grounds are at Manheim, are fairly 
entitled to be considered first, not only on account of the size of the 
club, but also on account of its playing strength, it having won last 
year not only the Halifax Cup for the championship of the first elevens, 
but also the Club Record Cup, which is awarded to the club attaining 


654 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


the highest percentage of points in matches between all the elevens of 
all the different clubs, first-eleven matches counting four points, second- 
eleven three points, and junior matches two points. 

Last year the eleven was unusually strong, as the club was able to 
depend upon its full strength in nearly every match. F. H. Bohlen, 
the winner of the batting cup in 1890, was hardly in as good form last 
year as the preceding one, though at the beginning of the season he 
scored most consistently. If you once get in a streak of bad luck, 
however, it is very hard to make runs, no matter in how good form you 
are playing in practice ; and that is what seemed to be the matter with 
Bohlen during 1891. E. W. Clark, Jr., as far as all-round playing is 
concerned, was at his best last year ; and if his services had been avail- 
able in the two international matches the All Philadelphia team would 
have been greatly strengthened. R. D. Brown, as usual, made runs in 
his own inimitable style, and for a consistent scorer year in and year out 
he has no superior, in my judgment, in this country. His play resembles 
R. S. NewhalFs in that each has a style of his own which it is impossible 
for any one else to imitate, and it would be a dangerous experiment to 
try to do so. Two other Germantown men, F. E. Brewster and S. 

Welsh, Jr., were in first- 
class form throughout the 
year, and Brewster had the 
honor of scoring two cen- 
turies, one hundred and 
forty-seven against Rose- 
dale and one hundred and 
three against Tioga, both 
of them not-outs. It is a 
very curious fact that these 
were the first centuries 
Brewster has ever made, 
and he has been playing 
first-class cricket for eigh- 
teen years. The German- 
town fielding was very 
good throughout the sea- 
son, with the exception of 
the memorable match with 
Belmont on the Fourth of 
July, when both sides tried 
to outdo themselves in 
dropping catches, S. Welsh, Jr., Norton Downs, W. Brockie, and H. I. 
Brown, however, all fielding brilliantly. Brockie captained the team 
as only he can do, and his fame as a captain should be ranked with that 
of D. S. Newhall, George Wright, and J. A. Scott. F. W. Ralston, 
who had not played regularly for several years, made his reappearance, 
and, though batting in very hard luck in the beginning of the year, 
soon got into first-class form, and this coming year should be in better 
form than he ever was, as his play has steadied down tremendously. 
His wicket-keeping throughout the season was also deserving of great 



FRANCIS E. BREWSTER. 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


655 


praise. Another reappearance after several years^ absence was that of 
Norton Downs, who fielded superbly throughout the season, and on 
Decoration Day gave the spectators at the Belmont grounds a spectacle 
in the way of hitting which they are not likely to see again very 
soon. 

The Belmont Eleven was hardly as strong as that which won the 
Halifax Cup in 1890. There seemed to be a lack of unanimity of 
purpose and feeling among the team ; and then, again, they were handi- 
capped by the fact that Dr. J. A. Scott did not play with them at 
all, and that Walter Scott was available only in the two Germantown 
matches. C. H. Burr, Jr., who at the close of the season of 1890 was 
considered by many competent judges to be the best wicket-keeper this 
country had ever produced, was not in as good form either in his wicket- 
keeping or in his batting ; he seemed to have gotten into a streak of 
bad luck which stuck 
to him all season. C. 

C. Coates, Jr., and A. 

M. Wood both were in 
great form during 1891 ; 
and it was to Coateses 
splendid batting, to- 
gether with that of 
Walter Scott, in both 
innings of the first in- 
ternational match, that 
the victory was in a 
great measure due. A. 

M, Wood never played 
better in his life, and, 
in the writer’s opinion, 
his innings of thirty 
in the second innings 
of the Boston-Phila- 
delphia match was as 
fine a one as he ever 
played. It was a great 
pity that the birth quali- 
fication should have pre- 
vented him from occu- 
pying a place in the teams chosen to play against Lord Hawke’s team. 
It has been proposed that hereafter Englishmen shall be eligible to play 
in Halifax Cup matches only after they have resided three years in this 
city, and that at the expiration of five years they shall be eligible to 
represent All Philadelphia in matches with foreign teams. The ques- 
tion is a very serious one, and well worth the gravest consideration of 
all those who have the interests of Philadelphia cricket at heart. 

Another member of the Belmont Eleven who made his mark last 
year was John W. Muir, Jr., and in the first part of the season he was 
in as good form as any man in Philadelphia, though towards the close 
of the season he fell off very much. His style and judgment, how- 



CRAWFORD C. COATES, JR. 


656 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


ever, are first-class, and a little more experience will probably see him 
in the first ranks of American batsmen. 

The Merion Eleven, under the leadership of H. P. Bailey, had 
the honor of being the only eleven to win a match from the champion 
Germantown team, but the eleven as a whole hardly seemed as good 
as those which have represented the club in former years. With the 
new grounds, however, and the increased facilities for practice which 
they will give, the Merion Eleven will doubtless resume its old stand- 
ing. The veteran Sutherland Law won the Batting Cup in Halifax 
Cup matches, and his success in this respect gave universal satisfaction 
to all Philadelphia cricketers. H. C. Thayer, a younger member of 
the famous family, scored most consistently and got his runs in first- 
class style, his hitting in the Boston-Philadelphia match and in the 
match with Canada being especially fine. A. G. Thompson and G. 
Brooke also made runs throughout the season, and Newbold Etting, 
though in bad luck as far as runs were concerned, fielded as brilliantly 
as ever. Their bowling, with the exception of Captain Bailey^s, was 
not very strong, and his work was very much handicapped by a severe 
sprain in his back. The Philadelphia Eleven under the management 
of Captain J. H. Patterson was a great improvement over any eleven 
which had ever represented the club before, and for the first time won 
a Halifax Cup match from the Merion. Captain Patterson, himself, 
set the eleven a good example by his consistent batting, and while he 
was in practice was on a bad wicket one of the most useful bats in the 
city, and it was due to his plucky hitting that the International Match 
with Canada was a victory. In C. Palmer and E. Norris and W. 
Goodwin the Philadelphia Club have the best fast bowling in Phila- 
delphia, and all they need now is a little more patient batting. 

The Tioga Club has struggled pluckily on, thanks to the enthusiasm 
of Captain Bristol, E. M. Cregar, and one or two others, and it is to 
be hoped that in the near future they will stand higher in the cham- 
pionship race, as they certainly have some very promising colts, like J. 
B. King and F. Bates. 

Among the other clubs resident in Philadelphia or its suburbs the 
North End C. C. is the strongest both financially and in cricketing 
ability. F. Sutcliffe, J. Mart, and A. Mountford are all good bats, and 
in E. Eastwood and F. Sutcliffe they have a pair of very formidable 
bowlers ; in fact, many competent judges consider Sutcliffe one of the 
best fast bowlers in this country. 

And now a word as to the comparison between native American 
cricketers and the English cracks.’^ In bowling we have no one to 
compare with the English professionals, and we never will have unless 
we develop a class of professionals and give them as much match- 
practice as their English brethren have. As far as the English ama- 
teurs are concerned, with the exception of S. M. S. Woods, their 
bowling is no better than ours, if as good. In batting, England can 
show fifteen first-class bats where we can show one ; and this result is 
not hard to account for. As a rule, the English amateur belongs to 
that leisured class which is so numerous in England and so conspicuous 
by its absence in the United States. The English amateur has had the 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


657 


best coaching in England from the time of his public-school cricket to 
his d4but on the county eleven. He plays matches five days out of the 
week from May 15 to the middle of August, and two weeks of good 
match-practice are worth two months of indiscriminate bowlers in the 
nets. The American amateur’s cricket existence is, as a rule, a pre- 
carious one. He gets a certain amount of cricket while a boy at school, 
not much coaching, though a change in this respect has taken place in 
the last few years, ever since the Germantown Eleven of 1886 demon- 
strated what good coaching could do for a lot of boys. When he 
becomes old enough to go to college, if he is lucky from a cricketing 
point of view, he goes to either the University of Pennsylvania or 
Haverford ; otherwise he finds himself at some college where cricket is 
unknown or the facilities for playing it are so inadequate that he forgets 
the little training which the club professional has had a chance to instil 
into him. Then after college come the cares of business, and if he is 
very fortunate he is able to play a match every Saturday after twelve 
o’clock. Of course there are some men who are able to play whenever 
they want to, though they do not get as many matches here as their 
brethren do in England, for the very good reason that there is no one 
to play against them through the week. There are also some amateurs 
in England whose cricket is hampered by business, and I believe the 
number of these is increasing, but they constitute rather the exception 
than the rule. 

The elements in favor of the English amateurs also aid their pro- 
fessionals, whose batting now would seem to be getting ahead of the 
amateurs, and it is a worthy tribute to American skill in sport that the 
batting here is as good as it 
is. What cricketers in the 
United States most need in 
their batting is an improve- 
ment in form ; though we 
have one or two men, like 
F. H. Bohlen, J. B. Thayer, 

Jr., Dr. J. A. Scott, and W. 

Brockie, whose form is first- 
class. 

In fielding, and I say 
this with the criticisms of 
the fielding of the Philadel- 
phia team in the recent in- 
ternational match in mind, I 
think we are better than the 
Englishmen, amateurs or pro- 
fessionals. Their wicket- 
keeping is far ahead of ours, 

— indeed, no comparison can 
be made, — and at short slip 
and at point, as a rule, we are much behind them ; but when it comes 
to the other positions I think we are much safer, though our fielding 
has not as much gallery” about it. I do not think their outfielders 



WILLIAM BROCKIE. 


658 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES, 


are in the same class with ours, either in judging catches or, what is 
more important, in catching them. Close to the wicket the English 
fielders pick the ball up and get it to the wickets very quickly, but I 
think the fact they run so many of our men out is chiefly due to the 
bad judgment shown by our batsmen in running between the wickets. 
Possibly our English cousins will consider it a trifle presumptuous to 
make any comparison between our cricket and theirs, but it is only done 
with a view to our own improvement ; and I would warn them that 
the time will come when the bowling in this country, if it continues to 
improve as it has done, will be so much better than the English ama- 
teur bowling that the Gentlemen of England and the Gentlemen of 
America will make a very interesting match. Let bowling and fielding 
be practised and trained as carefully as batting in this country, and 
that day will not be so very long in coming. 

Two years ago an attempt was made in Philadelphia to intro- 
duce into the game of cricket a few of the characteristics of base- 
ball, in order to shorten the game and make it more interesting for the 
spectators. The result of this conglomeration of base-ball and cricket 
was the so-called American Plan,^^ the characteristic feature of which 
was that at the fall of the third wicket the other side went into bat, 
and when they had lost three wickets the side which batted first would 
go in and bat again till they had lost three wickets, and this was kept 
up until each side had lost twenty wickets or as near to that as time would 
permit. If this plan had ever been carried out there would have been 
an end to any man being an all-round cricketer, as the strain of bowling 
and then going into bat and then bowling again would be too much 
for any man. It would also have tended to do away with patient and 
scientific batting, and put a premium on ^^slugging,^^ as the patient 
batsman if he stayed in while three wickets fell would then have to go 
out and field and get his eye out’^ before he resumed his batting. 

Fortunately, the plan was tried only in the second innings of 
matches, with the exception of a few intercollegiate matches, and the 
general disfavor with which the experiment has been received augurs 
well for its early death, and it is to be hoped that the cup committees 
will do away with the plan entirely. Doubtless improvements can be 
made so as to shorten the game, by beginning matches with greater 
punctuality and not wasting so much time, but these are improvements 
which are consistent with the good old game of cricket and will never 
result in such a mongrel game as the American Plan.^’ 

In closing this article I want to say a few words on behalf of the 
younger cricketers of Philadelphia with reference to the debt of grati- 
tude which they owe to the older generation of cricketers, the men 
whose enthusiasm and work built up the game in Philadelphia and 
furnished the present generation with the advantages they now possess. 
I refer to Thos. McKean, A. A. Outerbridge, John P. Green, E. N. 
Davis, the Wisters, the Newhalls, Murray Rush, C. Stuart Patterson, 
George Ashbi^dge, Dr. Cadwalader, William Nelson West, and Samuel 
Welsh. They are the men who played the game at a time when 
there were none of the facilities of splendid grounds and comfortable 
club-houses which the cricketers of to-day have. It was through Mr. 


CRICKET IN THE UNITED STATES. 


659 


McKean’s liberality that the Germantown C. C. played on the old 
grounds at Nicetown, the scene of so many international matches. A 
volume might be written on the part that the Newhalls have played in 
American cricket. Walter S. Newhall was the best bat in the United 



From a photograph hy Gutekunst. 
GEORGE M. NEWHALL. CHARLES A. NEWHALL. DANIEL S. NEWHALL. ROBERT S. NEWHALL. 


States in his day. George M. Newhall captained the Young American 
Eleven for twenty years, and kept wicket and played in international 
matches from 1859 to 1879. Robert S. Newhall was the best bat in 
the United States from 1875 to 1886. For twenty years Charles 
A. Newhall was the best fast bowler in this country and one of the 




660 


CORYDON AT THE TRYST, 


best fast bowlers the world has ever seen, and his performances in the 
matches of 1868 and 1872 against Wilsher’s and Fitzgerald’s teams 
will never be forgotten. Daniel S. Newhall captained all international 
teams from his brother George’s retirement till his own in 1889, with 
the exception of the Gentlemen of Philadelphia in England in 1884, 
he having been unable to make the trip. He was a first-class bat, 
almost as good as R. S., and in his younger days a very good slow 
bowler and fine fielder. The most important thing the Newhalls have 
done for cricket is the way they have always labored to keep up the 
tone of the game and to maintain its high standard. 

The old international match committee, also, consisting of Frederick 
C. Newdiall, C. Stuart Patterson, A. A. Outerbridge, Thomas McKean, 
and their successors, John C. Sims, Frederick M. Bissell, John P. 
Green, George S. Philler, W. W. Montgomery, and D. S. Newhall, 
who sent the teams of 1884 and 1889 abroad, have worked indefati- 
gably for the good of the game in Philadelphia. 

If the younger cricketers in the United States will work as long 
and earnestly for the good of the game as the older ones have done, 
cricket will play a very important part in the future history of Ameri- 
can sports. 

George Stuart Patterson. 

Chestnut Hill, March 10, 1892. 


CORYDON AT THE TRYST 

ARCADIA— 1692 . 

A cross ye lulle with nimble feete 
She trippes, my artlesse Phillis : 

With downcast eyes and blushes sweete, 
Blest by her steppe ye hille is ; 

With mouthe uplifted myne to meete. 

She’s fayre as daffodille is ; 

Sweet-throated birds her coming greete, 

Soe pure, soe true is Phillis. 

BROADWAY— 1892 . 

Where fashion’s armor glances keen. 

She saunters, dainty Phillis, 

Half mocking, chic, with glance serene, 

Cold as the shadowed rill is. 

Oh, serpent-wise that suave, white queen. 
Who knows her wish my will is, 

And breaks my heart with guileless mien, — 
A cruel, subtle Phillis ! 


Frances Nathan, 


A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL, 


661 


A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL. 

rpHE cards were out for the wedding. The trousseau was complete. 
JL The best man had the ring. The company had assembled, and 
the final touches were being put to the bride^s veil. 

The maid of honor and the four bridesmaids were superintending 
this ceremony. All these girls had graduated together two years be- 
fore, and had agreed then to fill these relative positions at the first 
wedding among them. 

There said Nettie Valentine, one of the pink maids ; I think 
that is quite perfect ; don’t you, girls?” 

Yes, lovely,” murmured Theresa Evans, one of the blues. You 
must go down now, of course,” as an impatient knock came at the 
door. ^‘Let us say good-by to Pauline — Pauline Desmond for the 
last time.” 

I do wish, dear,” said Fannie Graham, the maid of honor, that 
you could have made up your mind to insist that he should take your 
name instead of you his. But you will write it with a hyphen, won’t 
you ?” 

‘^Of course, girls; we all promised, and I certainly will.” 

And you won’t forget what else you promised ?” said several 
voices. 

^‘No, girls. You may depend upon me. — Yes, mamma, I am 
ready now.” 

Five minutes later the bride and groom stood at the head of the 
long parlor, in front of the bay-window where the clergyman had 
been awaiting them. 

Frank Lacy was a fine young fellow, and they made a handsome 
couple. To be sure, one of the bridesmaids (the blue one, who had 
kept on her eye-glasses) had her own opinion of Pauline, in that she 
had not preferred the Greek professor ; but then really, you know, the 
professor was pretty old, and, as he never talked in society, it was not 
generally supposed that he understood English as well as Greek. 

Then there was Mr. Midas, thought one of the pink bridesmaids. 
Pauline was a simpleton there. But, after all, it was just as well, and 
when he took notice again 

At this point the pink maid’s wandering attention came back to 
the sentence the minister was just finishing. 

— so long as you both shall live?” 

It was the bride’s turn to say, I will,” as the groom had just 
said it. 

Pauline stood erect. She raised her dark eyes and fixed them upon 
the face of the questioner. She was pale, but it was with an earnest 
purpose, not with nervousness. 

will do all these things,” she replied, except that I will not 
obey him.” 

Every one was taken by surprise, except the five girls who stood 

VoL. L.— 42 


662 


A STORY WITHOUT A MORAL. 


about the bride. There was a profound hush, while the clock on the 
mantel ticked ten times. 

Frank, she said, turning to her half-made husband, you do 
not wish me to make this monstrous promise, — to drag this relic of 
the Middle Ages — of the times when women were slaves and play- 
things of men — into our lives? You do not expect this of me, 
Frank 

Because if he does,’^ murmured the tall usher to the pink brides- 
maid, he is very sanguine, and he will apparently be disappointed, — 
like England, you know.”) 

‘‘ It is I that you wish for, not a servant : is it not so, Frank ?” 

‘‘ Certainly, Pauline ; you need not say it ; but why couldn’t you 
have arranged this quietly beforehand ?” 

Because I wished to do it now. — My friends,” she said, turning 
to the assembled guests, am I not right? It is for you, my sisters, 
that I do this. A recent writer has said, ‘ Would that some woman 
would have courage to make a scene, if necessary, on such an occasion ! 
It would be a glorious scene, if she possessed the courage and dignity 
to refuse for the sake of outraged womanhood to pronounce the mon- 
strous promise. It would be woman’s splendid declaration of inde- 
pendence. The brave bride would be the heroine of the hour. She 
would do more than a thousand sermons to wipe out this blot upon the 
Nineteenth Century !’ ” 

Quoted correctly,” whispered the blue maid. What a memory 
Pauline has !”) 

‘^I am this brave bride, my friends. — Now we will go on,” she 
said, turning to the minister. 

The service proceeded. The bride did not spoil her point by 
refusing to be given away. The vows were made (leaving out the 
obnoxious word). Then came the nervous moment while the best 
man fumbled for the ring. He had not lost it. He gave it to the 
man, who gave it to the woman, who gave it to the minister, who gave 
it to the man, while the Nineteenth Century stood by and consented. 
The groom placed it upon the finger of the bride and hesitated over 
the words he was to say : 

With this ring I thee wed ” 

‘^And with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” prompted the 
minister. 

^^No,” said Frank, abruptly. ^^Not all of them.” 

The clock ticked again. 

My friends,” said Frank, turning to the company, my brothers, 
I call you to my support. Why should a man be expected century 
after century to make this monstrous promise? Why should we give 
all our property to our wives?” 

It’s not a bad plan, sometimes,” said Uncle Canfield, of Canfield, 
Drew & Co., but nobody heard him.) 

Why should a self-respecting man be expected to bring home all 
his money, like a model little boy in a Sunday-school book ? Let us 
throw off the yoke, and our wives will respect us the more. There 
are nine hundred and seventy-eight employments open to women where 


MIRAGE. 


663 


there were formerly but six. They are able to get worldly goods for 
themselves. — Pauline, I know it is me that you wish for, not my 
money.^^ 

0‘lt is murmured the blue maid, mechanically.) 

Mean old thing said the pink maid to the tall usher. Mr. 
Midas wouldn^t have done so.^^) 

You can go on now,^^ said Frank to the minister. 

Wait. Perhaps you had better not go on,^^ said the bride^s 
mother, nervously. 

should think not,’^ said Aunt Sophia, severely, to the bride’s 
sister. “ You know I never approved of your forms, and you see what 
comes of them. They had better wait a couple of weeks and join 
some church where they don’t have them.” 

I wish they would,” whispered one guest to her sister. ‘‘ They’d 
have to give back the presents, and that pie-knife I gave would just do 
for Fannie Warner. Her wedding’s to-morrow.” 

And perhaps the caterer will take back the wedding-cake,” mused 
an impertinent youth, and that will do for that same Fannie. But 
we’ll have to have the salads. Pm awfully hungry.” 

“ Fun, isn’t it?” said the tall usher to the pink maid. don’t 
often enjoy weddings. But if they don’t go on it would be a pity to 
waste the minister. Some of the rest of us might use him.” 

^^Go on,” said the groom, impatiently. 

Go on,” said the bride, firmly. 

^^Go on,” said Uncle Canfield from the back of the room. 

Oh, don’t,” said the other pink maid, looking for her handker- 
chief. 

Though it be long in the telling how those behind cried forward 
and those before cried back, it was only fifty seconds by the clock. 
Then the reverend Mr. Blake cut the Gordian knot by saying, hurriedly, 
I pronounce you man and wife.” Then he went back and finished 
the service in the usual fashion. 

M. Helen Fraser Lovett. 


MIRAGE. 

T reasure the shadow. Somewhere, firmly based. 
Arise those turrets that in cloud-land shine; 
Somewhere, to thirsty toilers of the waste. 

Yon phantom well-spring is a living sign. 

Treasure the shadow. Somewhere, past thy sight, 

Past all men’s sight, waits the true heaven at last : 

Tell them whose fear would put thy hope to flight. 

There are no shadows save from substance cast. 

Edith M. Thomas, 


664 


FORM IN DRIVING. 



Fig. 1.— GRA.ND VICTORIA. (By the courtesy of Messrs. Flandrau & Co.) 


FORM IN DRIVING. 

W ITHIN the past few years, the horse in America has ceased to be 
regarded merely from a utilitarian or a racing stand-point, either 
as a draught-beast or a sporting animal. Now he occupies a position 
in which artistic and social considerations form integral parts. As 
with our architecture, our domestic establishments, and our luxuries, 
decorative and practical, so with our horses and equipages, we stop to 
consider not only whether they are useful, but whether they are beauti- 
ful and fulfil the requirements of good taste as symbolized in that mys- 
terious super-subtile entity, form.^^ It is not required, here, to ex- 
plain the genesis, or raison d Ur of form d it behooves us only to 
recognize it as a power, a very proper and beneficent power, in every 
civilized community that has ever achieved a high place in the world’s 
progress, material or intellectual. Only the man of extraordinary 
ability or genius can afford to disregard form” in anything, and the 
surest sign of America’s infantility is her local boast of freedom from 
convention. The genius, perhaps, may overcome the prejudice he 
raises among well-bred and well-mannered people by disregard or igno- 
rance of the niceties of les convenances, but the commonplace person is 
heavily handicapped by solecisms and bad taste. As Emerson puts 
it, Morals rule the world, but at short distances the senses are des- 
potic.” And, after all, in ultimate analysis, form” is but the ex- 
pression of taste and eternal fitness by those who may occasionally be 
tempted to overdo the thing, but who at least have leisure and mental 
equipment to arbitrate upon such matters ; or, as Herbert Spencer in 
his Ceremonial Institutions” aptly terms fashion,” that indefinite 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


665 


aggregate of wealthy and cultivated people whose consensus of habits 
rules the private life of society at large/^ Surely, therefore, there is no 
apology needed for the advocacy of form^^ in so conspicuous a part 
of our social and divertising life as that which concerns itself with our 
turnouts. And yet many a woman who can give a dinner properly, 
many a man to whom another kind of impropriety is impossible, drives 
in her or his own equipage which betrays the worst kind of ignorance, 
not only in structural peculiarities, but in the way it is turned out and 
driven. Not that in America there are not very many examples of 
what is ^^correct,^^ for imitation and instruction : it is not too much to 
say that several American cities compare favorably with any European 
metropolis in the style and appointments of turnouts daily to be seen 
in the city or Park. But in proportion to the number of turnouts 



Fig. 2.— a well-appointed brougham. 


seen, there are more inexcusably bad ones here than abroad, — bad not 
from cheapness, but from ignorance or indifference, or both. Midas 
Smith or Croesus Jones, whose turnouts are not ^^correct,^^ simply 
declares himself ignorant or careless of what society’s ukase has decreed, 
neither of which conditions is judicious or sensible. 

The following hints and suggestions, which do not claim either to 
be exhaustive or exclusive, are relative only to turnouts known as 
heavy; by which is meant contradistinguished from the light American 
trotting or utility rig.” For convenience’ sake, we may divide these 
turnouts into two classes, — those driven by gentlemen and those driven 
by servants. 

But before entering into the discussion of fine points, positive 
and negative, of the subject, it may be interesting to give, in a 
rough way, the original cost and yearly maintenance of a smart” 
and well-conducted equine establishment. It need hardly be said that 


666 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


this varies so much with the locality in which the stable is kept, as, 
for instance, rent and wages in New York, Baltimore, or Philadel- 
phia, that, even if the subject were not complicated by questions of the 
economy or extravagance of the individual, only an approximate aver- 
age could be attained. One man may possess a turnout worthy of the 
blue ribbon costing him less than his neighbor’s which, to the connois- 
seur, is ludicrous. But this is nevertheless true of every kind of pecu- 
niary expenditure. Taste and judgment are not required less in keep- 
ing horses than in keeping house or in buying books and j)ictures. I 
have often wondered why the vast number of people who are indiffer- 
ent about the correctness and style of their horses and carriages bother 
to keep them at all : they could hire for locomotive purposes almost 
equally good ones from many livery-stables. Not only should the man 
who owns horses have a monetary competence sufficient to preclude his 
being worried by trifling extras, such as a horse going incurably lame, 
but he should take pride enough in them to see that they are turned 
out not only clean, but in traps and harness, by competent servants, in 
accordance with certain fixed rules. 

For one about to start a modest, general- utility stable of four horses, 
for all-round work, city and country, buying everything new at first- 
class places, the following estimate, with large variation, is submitted : 


Four horses having style and quality, two of which might 

serve as Park hacks, or “ double usage’’ 

A brougham, not C spring 

A phaeton, mail, or Stanhope 

A dog-cart 

A victoria, or a “ Due” 

An exercising break 

Two sets of double and two sets of single harness, three 

saddles and bridles, liveries and whips 

Horse-clothing, rugs, and stable requisites 


$2000 

1350 

1100 

650 

1150 

500 

1850 

300 


Approximate total original cost 


$8900 


Those who have judgment and time to ‘^pick up” horses may get 
their lot together at lower figures than I have given, but the other 
items can be minimized only by getting inferior things. 

The cost of maintaining this establishment, with two men, would 
aggregate very little less than four thousand dollars a year, of which 
amount rent of stable in town, but not in the country, wages, and feed 
and straw, of course, constitute the chief items. 

To facilitate treatment, as just observed, we may divide turnouts 
into those driven by the owner and those driven by a coachman, select- 
ing two or three from each class, and showing things that should be 
and things that should not be. And let us begin with the brougham, 
a carriage which offers style, comfort, and elegance if well turned 
out, but none of these qualities if badly turned out. Pursuing the 
method of contrasts, the correct and the incorrect are illustrated in Figures 
2 and 3, the first showing one in form,” and the second, the same 
brougham, men, and horses, with such sins of omission or commission 
as would relegate it to the category of the very bad style. For the 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


667 


nonce assuming the self-described role of lago, I shall confess it is 
my nature’s plague to spy into abuses” and tell wherein lie the faults. 
Beginning at the pole-head, we find pole-chains instead of straps, the 
former being correct” only in a trap not driven by a servant. Next 
we see bearing-reins, which for general town work are unobjection- 
able, and for some horses almost a necessity, but we observe that 
they are merely supported by drops,” instead of having a separate 
bridoon bit. Nor are rosettes allowable on any but a woman’s turn- 
out, and even these suggest the bow on the whip. Going flank wards, 



Fig. 3.— a bad-style brougham. 


we see loin-straps and trace-bearers, which are always to be avoided, 
except for carriages made after the pattern of state coaches, and go 
only with embossed harness and bits. On the horses we see flowing 
manes, and tails banged, but not docked. The banged tail is as inap- 
propriate for the heavy, as the docked tail is for the trotting rig ; of 
the long flowing tail nothing need be said, further than that it is 
simply inexcusable. Come we now to the men on the box and, 
par parenth^se, a word of explanation of the distinction between a 
footman and a groom. The former is always a house-servant, and has 
no connection whatever with the stable ; he goes out on the box, v/ith 
his mistress, and, if perfectly trained, knows her visiting list and ad- 
dresses quite as well as she herself; his livery is diSerent from a groom’s, 
in the cut of his coat, in his collar, and in his wearing trousers instead 
of boots and breeches. Returning to our criticism, we notice these 
servants on the box wearing moustaches, which embellishment, to be 
hated” by the knowing, needs but to be seen and, further, they are 
sitting with their knees wide apart, the coachman with a straight whip, 
and reins in each hand. Later on, we shall glance at the proper 
manner of driving and holding the reins, — the same principles obtain- 


668 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


ing alike for master and servant. Within late years there has arisen 
in Paris and London, among some very smartly turned-out equipages, 



Fig. 4.— a well-tukned-out stanhope phaeton. (By the courtesy of Messrs. Fiaiidrau & Co.) 


the custom of the men on the box sitting with knees bent, as shown 
in Figure 7 ; but it is not so effective in appearance, nor so strong in 
command over the horse, as the position shown in Figure 1. But never, 



Fig. 5.— a bad-style stanhope phaeton. 


under any circumstances, should either man sit otherwise than with 
knees almost, if not quite, touching. There is upon the question of 
the second man’s arms some difference of opinion, and either of the 



FORM IN DRIVING. 


669 


two ways, Figs. 8 and 9, but no other, is correct ; the former posi- 
tion, however, with arms crossed, is by some considered rather the 
smarter. And while upon the subject of the man, a fact in connection 
with the color of liveries and painting of carriages should be mentioned, 
— the fact that these should correspond with the color of one’s armorial 
bearings ; it is owing to this fact that such polychromatic brilliancy is 
sometimes seen abroad, and the unjust accusation of shoddy ostenta- 
tion made. Most Americans are fortunate in this regard, not being 



Fig. 6.— for single work. 


laden with quarterings, and therefore being free to select what color they 
fancy. But when they claim this evidence of genealogy they must 
remember that they must be governed by the rule. Like coloring, 
cockades have a significance, and are the indicia of nobility, or of the 
diplomatic or the army or navy services ; those who like them, there- 
fore, should first consider whether they have the right to use them. 

As to the carriage, it is difficult to lay down hard-and-fast rules ; style 
changes, and the shape of a brougham or the curve of a victoria varies 
almost every year ; it is not, then, necessary to discard last year’s carriage 
because of a new fad in shape this year. In the degree of loudness of 
ornamentation, too, much margin is allowed ; taste can be cultivated in 


670 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


this as in other things, but it cannot be implanted. If one goes to first- 
class coach-builders, of whom there are many in our great cities, one can 
generally be governed by them 
to a great extent. The tendency 
which the American builder of 
the second class follows is to 
produce lighter carriages than 
the model calls for ; the result 
is little gain, if one has the 
proper kind of horse, strong 
and rather heavy, and presents 
a mongrel appearance, utterly 
destitute of style. In manu- 
facture, workmanship, and finish 
the American carriage is unsur- 
passed by that of any foreign 
country, and in point of cost it 
is cheaper, under existing tariff 
laws, not to speak of the trouble 
of importation ; but it is mere 
patriotic weakness, alike un- 
reasonable and silly, to deny 
that our original vehicles — 
apart from the excellent light 
wagon, in which we make as 
well as follow styles — are re- 
markable for absolute inelegance. 



Fig. 7.— coachman with knees bent. 


The moral of which is that those 
carriage-builders who are 
in closest correspondence 
with French and English 
firms of high standing are 
the only ones who can 
build correct’^ carriages. 

For obvious reasons, 
chiefly lack of leisure and 
of the cultivation of the 
trotting horse, the Amer- 
ican gentleman’s turnout, 
which he drives himself, 
is, generally speaking, not 
stylish nor a ‘‘ thing of 
beauty in this regard 
the traps his coachman 
drives are qualitatively 
and quantitatively supe- 
rior, as here what our 
good-natured French critic 
makes the theme of one 
of his lectures, Her Majesty the American Woman’s” influence, is 
felt. Though Monsieur has no time to devote to driving, Madame 



Fig. 8.— groom with arms crossed. 


FORM IN DRIVING, 


671 


desires to use, and be seen in, something at once fashionable and 
comfortable. 

The man who wants to turn out in form,^^ and who is limited in the 
number of traps, might select first of all a phaeton, of which there are 

three styles : tlie mail, 
which is really the heavy 
swell thing,^^ with perch 
and mail spring under- 
carriage, and consequently 
is heavy, and rather cum- 
brous ; the lighter demi- 
mail, having four elliptic 
springs, and no perch ; 
and the Stanhope phaeton, 
hung on elliptic springs, 
with curved panel, and 
arched boot to permit of 
the front wheels cutting 
under. All of those traps 
must be driven with groom 
behind, and in the two 
former those who wish to 
be ultra can take two 
Fig. 9.— groom with arms not crossed. men : this, however, is 

seldom seen, even in Con- 
tinental cities. Figure 4 shows a well-turned-out Stanhope phaeton, 
and Figure 5 one of the other kind.^’ Most of the strictures upon 
Figure 3 might here be repeated. 

After the phaeton, probably the most effective trap, combining, as it 
does, style and utility, comes the dog-cart, which, while originally de- 
signed for shooting and get-about purposes, is more especially in the 
United States used for 
Park work, and in its 
tandem elaborations is 
susceptible of any 
amount of smartness.^’ 

When driving alone, 
it is indifferent whether 
the groom sits beside 
his master, with the 
tail-board closed, or 
not ; but in tandem he 
should always sit on 
the hind seat. 

A trap to be driven 
by the master should 
be brought to the door 
with the off or right side towards the pavement : it is better to have to 
turn round, if you are going in the opposite direction to your horses’ 
heads, than to climb over your guest’s feet, or to go round behind the 




672 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


trap to get in on the ofip side. The groom leaves the reins neatly depos- 
ited with one turn round the whip, or in the rein-holder on the dash- 
board, and gets out always on the off side, so as to be near the reins if 
the horses start, and waits at the horses’ heads without touching them, 
unless necessary. Of course in places where he is likely to have to move 
off for some other vehicle he remains on the box seat. When his master 
or mistress comes out he touches his hat without looking directly at him 
or her, then places a hand on each horse’s rein, as lightly as possible, 
not grabbing them roughly as some men seem to think necessary. A 
word here upon the subject of coachman and groom touching" their 
hats when spoken to or when addressing persons. This is not a servile 
act, as some misinformed servants imagine; it is merely a custom 
arising from experience in intimating that an order is understood, and 


from the greater amount of for- 
mality which attends an equipage. 
No self-respecting servant, who 
takes pride in his stable and his 
turning-out, omits this trifling fin- 
ish to his manners, and I have 
never known one worth his salt 
who objected to it. This by the 
way. When seated and ready to 
start, the whip” nods to the 
groom, who, quickly stepping aside 
and again touching his hat, waits 



Diagram B. 


until the trap almost passes, then quickly jumps into his place. But a 
groom’s work is not done when seated ; he is not there merely to sit 
comfortably, gape around, and take his ease ; he should not only sit 
perfectly straight and as if he saw nothing, but he should in reality see 
everything about the whole turnout or on the street or road, and be 
ready to anticipate whatever order may be given. A quick, smart 
groom adds much to even the most stylish trap, while a slouchy or 
incapable one can quite spoil the trap otherwise above criticism. Upon 
leaving the vehicle, people fling the reins to the groom” only in 
novels written by the class of young ladles whom George Eliot in- 
cludes in her mind and millinery” categories : the prudent coachman 
gets down with the reins in his hand, and gives them to his man after 
he has helped his guest to alight. The moment the groom leaves the 
horses’ heads, they will probably start, and, if no one has hold of the 
reins — chaos. 

The subject of the driving, and of the manipulation of the reins 
and whip, is far too extensive and intricate a one to be discussed satis- 
factorily at the close of a short magazine article, but it is possible to 
indicate those cardinal and fundamental principles essential to the sub- 
ject of this paper. The most imperative command of smart driving is 
to hold the reins in the left hand, the near side over the first finger, the* 
off side between the second and third fingers, and seldom, save in 
emergency, separate the reins by taking one in each hand. Diagram 
A illustrates the correct position, in which we see also that the hands 
are held well up and close to the body, as a Frenchman graphically 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


673 



and facetiously enjoins : Quant aux r^nes, il faut les tenir aussi pr^s 
que possible du coeur (si vous en avez)/' In this regard Figs. 1 and 

4 are incorrect The wrist is bent, 
giving pliability to the hands, and the 
whip, held in the palm of the hand 
almost entirely by the thumb, so as to 
leave the four fingers free to work the 
reins, is nearly at right angles with the 
horses, and about forty-five degrees from 
the horizontal. In turning to the left 
or near side, the right hand reaches 
across, and, taking hold of the near rein 
between the first and second fingers, 
pulls it backwards over the otf-side 
rein, which at the same time the left 
hand has forwarded slightly to slacken 
the draught. (Diagram B.) The off- 
side rein is acted on in the same relative manner, 
except that it is taken hold of from the top 
by the last three fingers of the right hand, as 
shown in Diagram C, and pulled towards the left 
hand. Although generally confined to tandem 
and four-in-hand driving,* it is often desirable 
to point’^ in driving one or a pair, that is, to 
loop the near rein, if you would turn the near 
side, under the thumb, or if off side, which is 
more difficult, between the first and second fingers. 

The advantage of this is at once apparent, as it 
gives one a free right hand with which to use the 
whip on a sluggish horse and help him^^ either 
round a corner or in passing another vehicle. To 
stop, simply place the right hand at a greater or iagram 

shorter distance, according to the speed, in front of the left hand 
^ (Diagram D), and pressing 

, the right hand towards the 

body, and pushing the left 
hand a trifie out, raise both 
hands, the body meanwhile 
being kept straight, even in- 
clining a bit forward. This 
is a far more effective and 
clean method than that of 
taking a rein in each hand, 
leaning back and pulling, 
not only with the loss of 
dignity, but at the risk of the 
rupture of a blood-vessel. 

There is a point which more properly comes under the head of the 




BAD STYLE. 


* See article on ‘‘ Four-in-Hand/^ in April number of this magazine. 


674 


FORM IN DRIVING. 


etiquette of driving than that which I have chosen to discuss in this 
paper, however briefly and imperfectly ; it is that of how a man driving 
shall salute a female acquaintance when they meet, he being, ex hypo- 
thesis on the box at the time. There are some rather exacting people 
who demand that the man shall, as when walking, take off his hat ; 
but, while he is at liberty to do so if he so elects, it is neither a slight 
to his feminine acquaintance nor a sign of incapacity as a Jehu if he 
merely raises his whip vertically and with it nearly touches his hat, 
making it more impressive, if desirable, by an inclination of his body. 

Form’^ has set its seal upon this mode of speaking,’’ and is, as 
with most of the rules of this human-born power, based upon common 
sense; for it is ofttimes disagreeable and uncomfortable to take off 
one’s hat while driving in a high wind, and as dangerous to engage 
the whip hand in places where careful driving is required. 



Fig. 10.— a Parisian turnout. 


Of essentially feminine traps, the styles are not numerous ; though 
the mannish woman in England and the half-world in France do not 
hesitate to handle the ribbons from a mail phaeton or a high dog-cart. 
For town or Park, the most appropriate carriage for a woman to drive 
herself is the Due” or phaeton, or the somewhat louder curricle ; and 
while she should endeavor to have everything about her turnout as hand- 
some as possible, she should eschew the unnecessarily ornate and fancy. 
The harness may be a trifle more elaborate, and she may have housings 
or saddle-pads, but in other respects she would best conform to the busi- 
ness-like appearance of the man’s phaeton. A buck-board, for one or a 
pair, well turned out, with groom behind, is a smart trap for a woman 
to drive in the Park of a morning. 

If failing either to interest or instruct the American reading public 
of to-day, — that vast plutocracy which is destined soon to set the fashion 
for the world, and even now is aped, while superciliously sneered at, by 
foreign monarchies and republics, — if these care not for such equine and 
equipagial trifles as I have presumed to offer, possibly some antiqua- 
rian, centuries hence, may chance upon these pages and find in them 
matter for a subdivision of an essay on the manners and customs of 
Americans towards the end of the nineteenth century.” 

C. Davis English. 



MEN OF THE DAY. 


675 


MEN OF THE DAY. 

L OUIS PASTEUR, the great doctor, is a short-built, thick-set man, consider- 
ably rounded at the shoulders, with a closely-trimmed gray beard, and 
habitually wears a profoundly preoccupied appearance. His sight is very poor, 
and he walks lamely, being semi-paralyzed on one side, but withal he possesses 
the traditional politeness of the Frenchman, and never loses his temper with 
the army of cranks and curio-hunters who throng his laboratory almost daily. 
Early in life he strayed away from the beaten track of medicine into the by- 
paths of chemical exploration, and first made himself known as an experi- 
menter in molecules. Then he turned his attention successively to silk-worm 
disease, chicken cholera, and fermentation, all of which were wonderfully eluci- 
dated by his researches. He also enriched pathology with a new horror by dis- 
covering the true cause of splenic apoplexy ; not content with which, he has 
also discovered a means of checking it. His system of inoculation against 
rabies — upon which his fame will mainly rest — is too well known to need even 
passing mention here. In 1888 the Pasteur Institute for the treatment of 
hydrophobia was opened in Paris. Here he treats all who come, free of charge. 
During the last three years he has treated no less than seven thousand eight 
hundred and thirty-nine persons bitten by mad dogs, and only fifty-three of his 
patients have died. His gigantic scheme to rid Australia of the plague of 
rabbits by spreading disease among them by inoculation has not been so success- 
ful, but he says that some of his most important discoveries are yet to be given 
to the world if his life is prolonged for a few years more. He is a glutton for 
work, and after inoculating patients all day experiments upon rabbits during 
the better part of the night. He is naturally weighed down with decorations, 
and has sat in the chairs of five different learned societies. He is one of the 
Forty Immortals, being one of the few men of science without special literary 
claims who have ever been elected to the French Academy. He is profoundly 
absent-minded, so much so that on the day of his marriage a search had to be 
made for him by his bride’s relatives. He was finally discovered in one of the 
hospitals of Paris, and declared that he had forgotten all about the wedding. 

Secretary of State John Watson Foster is a tall, spare man, of wiry build 
and quite distinguished appearance, with a pale, singularly clear-complexioned 
face framed in white side-whiskers, and keen blue eyes, which, though ordinarily 
very cold, light up pleasantly in conversation. In manner he is incisive and 
dignified, yet quite informal and simple. He is six-and-fifty, and a Hoosier by 
birth. He graduated first at the university of his native State, and then at 
Harvard Law School, and, having got himself admitted to the bar, began prac- 
tice at Evansville. This was in 1857. When the war broke out, four years 
later, he entered the Union service as major of the Twenty-Fifth Indiana 
Infantry, and was promoted rapidly. During his entire service he was con- 
nected with the Western armies of Grant and Sherman. He was commander 
of the advance brigade of cavalry in Burnside’s expedition to East Tennessee, 
and was first to occupy Knoxville in 1863. After the war he became editor of 
the Evansville Journal^ which position he held for three years. He was subse- 
quently postmaster of Evansville for four years, and chairman of the Republican 


676 


MEN OF THE DAY. 


State Committee. In 1873 General Grant appointed him minister to Mexico, 
and he quickly became the most influential resident minister at the Mexican 
capital. He was not content simply to hold the office, have a pleasant time 
socially, and draw the salary, but studied Spanish law and literature, and was 
on confidential terms with the leading men of the country. After seven years 
he became minister to Russia under Hayes, and, though he did not remain long 
at St. Petersburg, he pursued the same methods which had made him both 
popular and useful in Mexico. He studied the language, the people, the law, 
the customs. He was transferred to Spain by President Arthur, and soon knew 
Spanish matters almost as well as he did those of the United States. After two 
and a half years at Madrid he returned to the United States, and settled in 
Washington as an international lawyer. With the prestige of long service in 
the diplomatic field, and the distinction of being the only man in our diplomatic 
history to hold three first-class missions, his services naturally were in much 
demand. He became counsellor for Mexico and a special agent for Russia, 
while the Spanish government was once his client. Several of the South 
American republics also employed him. In addition to his private practice he 
also found time to serve his country in several delicate and important matters. 
President Arthur sent him to Spain to negotiate a commercial treaty, and Presi- 
dent Harrison sent him again to Spain and Cuba to negotiate reciprocity arrange- 
ments, while the very important work of preparing the Bering Sea case has 
been left almost entirely to him. He is therefore familiar with every trick in 
the pack, so to speak, and has become such a thorough master of the forms and 
usages of international intercourse, as well as of the written and unwritten law 
which underlies it, that he may be considered a master of his profession. 

Lord Wolseley, ‘‘England’s only general,” is a slim-built, small-statured 
man, with a ruddy face firmly lined, searching blue eyes, and a drooping gray 
moustache, and, though his hair is now almost white, looks quite a decade 
younger than his years, which are nine-and -fifty. In manner he is suave, and 
he speaks with a marked Irish brogue, but he is profoundly unpatriotic. He 
has smelt considerable gunpowder in his time. During England’s war with 
Burmah, in 1852, he was only an ensign. In leading a storming-party both he 
and a brother officer were shot down as they entered the enemy’s works. The 
other bled to death in five minutes, and Wolseley was only saved by a miracle, 
after months of terrible suflering. The Crimean War, in 1854, found him ready 
for duty, but he got terribly knocked about there also. During the siege of 
Sebastopol fate was strangely against him. He was wounded on the 10th of 
April, and again on the 7th of June, and on the 30th of August, while at work 
in the trenches, he was bowled over by a solid shot striking a wall near him. 
He was picked up for dead, hardly recognizable from the number of wounds on 
his face. The surgeons declared him beyond hope, but he took a different view 
of the matter, and, after suffering for several weeks, recovered. For a long time 
he lived in a dark room, total blindness being threatened from the effects of his 
wounds. But he recovered entirely. He has always been very lucky; and he 
invariably says what he thinks, so that he is not generally popular. He is 
rather over-fond of magazine-writing, and, though a confirmed Prohibitionist, 
he smokes exorbitantly. He has an only daughter. 


M. Crofton. 


AS IT SEEMS, 


677 


AS IT SEEMS. 


Ciirtis and Whittier. — These deaths are the heaviest losses that America 
has sustained since that of Lowell. If it be ‘‘men, high-minded men” who 
chiefly “ constitute a State,” these were of our purest and truest. It is a testi- 
mony to the power of the pen that men whose gifts and labors were above all 
things literary should have exercised such influence in national affairs. Their 
politics were of the good old Greek kind, twin brother to ethics, — the sort that 
concerns every citizen, and looks rather to ends than means. 

Mr. Whittier was a Quaker Puritan, with a modified theology and an 
unmodified conscience. With the stringing together of pretty rhymes and 
metres which seems to be the main aim of our younger bards, he had little 
sympathy. He has been taxed, indeed, with occasional harshness and a 
deficient ear. His muse was fed on convictions and full of heart. He loved 
Nature much. Humanity and Freedom even more, and God in all His works 
and causes. Those whose memories go back to the war and the years before it 
remember how he fought against the chief blot on our national record and 
exulted in the victories of Human Eights. In his degree it was as true of him 
as of Luther that 

Half-battles were the words he said, 

Each born of prayer, baptized in tears. 

And when the fight was won and his warlike occupation gone, he turned with 
grateful joy to themes of peace. Among pious lyrists he stands very high, and 
is beloved no less in Britain than at home. “My Psalm,” “The Eternal Good- 
ness,” and “ Our Master” are the most exquisite hymns ever written on this 
side the Atlantic. 

A Public Servant. — Mr. Curtis was a gentler and less one-sided reformer, 
but not less earnest and consistent. Whittier cared little for recent issues: 
Curtis cared for whatever concerned the well-being of the State. If he touched 
no spirit-stirring lyre, his prose was that of a master. He brought to his task a 
finished rhetoric and a spirit whose sweetness involved no lack of strength. 
When the Tweed Eing was yet in unquestioned power, owning courts as well as 
legislature, so that none dared attack it directly, he wielded the weapon of irony 
with terrible effect. “ How fair a spectacle is our city government !” he wrote in 
substance. “ What a privilege to live under rulers of such pure life and high 
accomplishments, such rigid public integrity, such nobly disinterested motives !” 
And so on through a column whereof every sentence told, and yet no word was 
actionable. 

Of late years the views which he frankly and steadily expounded have ex- 
posed him to much derision. He was the leader of those who hold and desire 
no ofiice, who regard party as a vehicle and not as a church, yet who assume to 
have something to say about platforms and candidates, and even to disapprove of 
the professional politicians and their gainful trade. What is to be thought of a 
man who is not “ on the make,” who cares for large principles rather than im- 
VoL. L.— 43 


678 


AS IT SEEMS, 


mediate details, who berates the machine and believes the purification of politics 
to be more than an iridescent dream ? Many did not know what to think of such 
strange notions : as for the man, he was an idealist, a visionary, an unpractical 
dreamer. But as idealism is not dead yet, some of us honored Mr. Curtis for 
these very reasons ; and some of his dreams are in a way to be realized, partly 
because he kept on dreaming them and imparting what he dreamed. 

His pen was busy for a generation and more. As a graceful essayist we 
had not his superior, perhaps — Lowell aside, who was supreme in nearly every- 
thing he undertook — not his equal. He wrote on social themes, on music, on 
art, on whatever was stirring. Through it all, he was an American of the 
Americans, a man of men. There was much of Marcus Aurelius in him, and 
something of Epictetus. How pithily he reproved our snobbish worship of 
wealth ! “ Will this Croesus give you any of his money? If not, what is it to 
you?” Like Whittier, he stood on the broad ground of manhood suffrage and 
human rights. His manly independence had no tinge of acerbity ; he never 
sneered, never grumbled, never sulked. The reformer’s frequent failings of 
narrowness, fanaticism, bitterness, were not in him ; a delicate humor, a gra- 
cious and pervasive geniality, marked the man and his work. On his monument 
should be inscribed the tribute which the seldom laudatory Nation once paid 
him : “ If the coming generation of Americans should be overflowing with good 
manners, it is Mr. Curtis whom they will have to rise up and bless.” 

The Rehabilitation of Tom Paine. — It is but a generation or two 
since a man’s character was judged by his opinions ; to quarrel with the pre- 
vailing creeds was to be a heathen and a publican. Paine did this, and so his 
virtues were turned into vices. His education was imperfect, his taste poor, his 
vanity greater than his dignity, and his courage often in excess of prudence and 
politeness ; therefore he was a filthy little atheist,” and this bad name was 
affixed to his memory more firmly than the historic kettle to the doomed dog’s 
tail. He was a man of thought, and, in his way, a man of action ; he rendered 
eminent services to his country and his kind ; but partisan malignity converted 
him into an adulterer, a sot, and a generally disreputable and odious outcast. 
Public opinion accepted this verdict and consigned him to infamy ; his name 
has been a thing to scare good children with, to point morals and adorn ser- 
mons. 

As long ago as 1840, Mr. W. J. Linton vindicated his memory in a short 
Life, which went through several editions. But it was too soon ; the era of 
odium theologicum was not yet over, and the Paine myth was dear to the popular 
fancy. The main charges against him are repeated in all the books of reference 
down to Appletons’ American Biography.” 

It was reserved for our more liberal age to bring out the facts with emphasis, 
and cleanse the tomb of a patriot from the bushels of mud thrown long ago. 
Mr. M. D. Conway, who loves that kind of work and does it with patience and 
acumen, has brought out a real Life of Paine, in two volumes. From these it 
appears that the much-slandered free-thinker was as far as possible from an 
atheist, or even from what we now call an irreligious man ; that the book 
which raised such a storm was written from good and pious motives ; that his 
self-sacrificing charity to Mme. Bonneville was vilely construed into an illicit 
relation; that his humanity and beneficence were constant, his love of justice 
intense and dominant, and his purity of life above the average in that age. 


AS IT SEEMS. 


679 


Perhaps these disclosures will be heeded and remembered in future cyclopaedias, 
newspaper notices, and orations ; or perhaps not. A bad name is apt to stick, 
especially when it has attained the currency of a proverb. 

A Fallen Champion. — It is not usually to the prize ring that one turns 
for what Breitmann called ‘‘moral ideas;’’ and yet why not? We hear much 
of the improving effects of base-ball and other athletic sports : surely the noble 
art of fisticuffs cannot be far behind them in developing the virile virtues. One 
needs at least fortitude in standing up to be pounded; and perhaps the game 
may develop regard for its rules and for the sacred interests of fair play — 
^ though on this point we had rather wait for an inside opinion before committing 
ourselves. 

At any rate, human nature has a rooted regard for pluck and endurance. 
Not without a thrill did we learn the sad fate of that stalwart Louisianian who, 
being insulted and then assaulted while on the fioor with his best girl at 
Allen’s Mill, with his trusty toothpick prepared his two antagonists for inter- 
ment, and then expired, having “ twenty-four knife-wounds and three bullet- 
wounds in his body.” If one is forced to interrupt the harmonies of the dance 
with strife of arms, this is the way to do it handsomely. Nor shall honor fail 
to attend the memory of the Texan horseman who, at Garfield Park, Chicago, 
with his last breath summoned two policemen to attend him to the Happy Kace- 
Grounds of the Hereafter, thus adding to the fourteen notches on his pistol-stock. 

But to return to the King, whose encounters, if equally gory, are less fatal, 
the end in view being mauling, not murder. Turn about is fair play, and it is 
not with unmixed regret that we contemplate the passing of the heavy-weight 
championship from Mr. Sullivan to Mr. Corbett. That high honor Prof. 
Sullivan has worn proudly for ten years — proudly, but not blamelessly. We 
could forgive him much for his generosity in vouching for the Prince of Wales; 
but greatness may be pushed too far, and, to be frank, he has too often tried 
our patience. The reports of his doings about country have frequently re- 
minded us that 

it is excellent 

To have a giant’s strength, but tyrannous 
To use it like a giant, 

and still more frequently recalled other texts which we hear at temperance 
meetings. If not exactly the glass of fashion, he has been the mould of form 
for one section of society in Boston and elsewhere — the envied, admired, courted, 
all but adored. “ Love, honor, troops of friends” were at his back. Alas, all 
this is past. Fifteen thousand eyes have seen him panting, bleeding, helpless, 
knocked about the arena, prostrate in the sands, with a cracked nose and a 
vainly-heaving breast. The king is dead ! Long live the king ! 

Prof. Corbett has netted by his achievement a tidy competence of thirty- 
five thousand dollars — as much as some able editors make in a year. We trust 
he will invest it securely, and not spend it in celebrating his success. Let him 
abstain from the fiowing bowl, and from chance encounters with persons 
smaller than he and not in training. He must remember to “ take care of him- 
self,” physically and morally, if he wishes to keep the belt he has won. 

A CERTAIN newspaper (which shall be nameless) copied from a recent issue 
of the New England Magazine a paragraph purporting to give the origin of 


680 


AS IT SEEMS, 


‘‘ The Old Oaken Bucket.” This item, duly credited, was again copied into 
“ Current Notes” of our August number. Our attention has been called to the 
fact that the extract, though correctly reproduced as far as it went, went by no 
means far enough ; for the New England Magazine, after citing this bar-room 
version,” proceeded to contradict it : “ such,” it said, was not the origin of this 
beautiful poem.” 

Truth has often been sacrificed to point, but a dead poet’s reputation is of 
more value than an anecdote. Samuel Woodworth was a man of blameless life, 
and a useful worker in several good causes. Some of his hymns are still sung 
and valued, and his habits, we are assured, in no way contradicted the doctrine 
of the verses by which chiefly he is remembered. Let a note of these facts be 
made by any who may have been induced by the above-mentioned extract to 
believe otherwise. 

English undefiled seems to be on the wane in one of the Boston news- 
papers. Endeavoring to compliment an eminent Chicagoan, it says, His wife 
ornaments his home by her sweet and simple personality as much as she fills 
it with her domestic tendencies.” Domestic tendencies are good things in their 
way, and naturally to be looked for in a good wife ; but they ought not to “ fill” 
the house to the exclusion of furniture, books, and crockery. Yet more alarm- 
ing is the statement that “ it must be a strange individuality who would not feel 
at ease around Eugene Field’s board.” It is not safe to say what an individu- 
ality” might or might not do, but an individual would hardly “ feel at ease” if 
he got “around” the whole table. In fact, how is he to do it? He might 
indeed “ surround” some of the viands upon it ; and perhaps this is the meaning. 
Mr. Field will do well to keep a rod in pickle for this correspondent ; or, if 
charitably disposed, to give him a few lessons in the use of words. 

An esteemed contemporary of the highest character has made a momentous 
historical discovery. “Three hundred years ago, on the 25th of next Novem- 
ber,” it says, “ a bill passed the legislature of Massachusetts.” If this be correct, 
Virginia can no longer claim the honor of the first English settlement on our 
coasts; she will come in a bad second. Details are anxiously awaited as to 
these colonists who got here ahead of the Pilgrims and Puritans, and had the 
machinery of government at work thirty years or so before their arrival. 

The gentleman in Warsaw who blew himself up while endeavoring to 
remove (with dynamite) a church “ to whose doctrines and practices he was 
bitterly opposed” aflbrds an object-lesson on the evils of intolerance. Keligious 
convictions should draw the line at explosive compounds. 

The readers of “ A Kiss of Gold,” in our last issue, will be interested to 
know that the author. Miss Kate Jordan, has published through Lovell, Coryell 
& Co. a striking little tale called “The Other House, a Study of Human 
Nature.” 

No novel which first appeared in this or any other magazine has attracted 
more attention than “ The Quick or the Dead ?” Its author, Amelie Kives, has 
now written a sequel to it, using for her title the name of the heroine, “ Barbara 
Dering.” The volume is published by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


681 


of 

FOR HOLIDAY TIHES AND ALL TIHES. 

There are several species of history, all of which may be 
Lives of the Queens equally entertaining. There is only one species which is 
Agn^s^sSckiand.^ relatively certain to be true. That is the sort of history of 
which we here have an example. It is made up of con- 
temporary documents, diaries, memoirs, and chronicles. It is one-tenth opinion, 
nine-tenths evidence. ‘‘Paint me with my warts,’’ said Cromwell. Agnes 
Strickland painted the queens of England as they were, and her history is 
embalmed for all ages in the preservative wrapping of truth. 

But it is a gratuitous task to praise a noble work which is crowned already 
with the eulogies of two generations. Miss Strickland wrote her preface to the 
first complete edition in 1851. Since then these historical biographies, as she 
aptly calls them, have been an established standard. They are far more than 
that. They are among the most delightful reading which history affords, 
because they are built upon character rather than upon events. It has almost 
passed into an axiom that biography is more alluring than history, and these 
Lives of the Queens, like Plutarch’s Lives, embody the best elements of both. 
They are wrought out of a myriad webs ; and they depict the queens in their 
daily life, “ their sayings and doings, their manners, their costume,” giving as 
well “ their most interesting letters” and royal documents. Who that has read, 
for instance, of the love-affairs of the unfortunate Katharine Howard but will 
freely endorse a verdict already delivered by time ? 

It would be a work of supererogation to say so much concerning these 
eight handsome volumes, were it not for the fact that until the present edition 
from the Lippincott press appeared they were quite inaccessible to American 
readers, either on account of the price of the imported edition or from the 
scarcity of copies to be had in this country. They are therefore somewhat new 
to younger readers, and they are now brought within the reach of all in a form 
that will be ornamental to any library as well as useful to every student. 

Their external appearance in dull green and gold covers is very handsome, 
while their internal features are all that delicate paper and new type can achieve. 
The illustrations will be a revelation to those who have not already followed the 
recent developments of the art of half-tone printing. There are in the eight 
volumes some specimens of this process which exceed in fidelity and beauty 
anything that has yet been done in the forms of reproductive photography 
either here or abroad. 

It requires a long course of cultivation, a wide familiarity 
Poets Hartr nature, and a deep emotional temperament to value 

son s! Morris. poetry at its full. To those who possess these qualities a poem 

may seem almost a divine creation. To those — and they 
are many — who lack them, the same poem is often a good deal of a puzzle. 
Hence it has come that skilful pens have set to work in these prosaic days — 
Yol. L. — 44 


682 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH 


impelled, doubtless, by a real love of poetry and a concern for its growth — to 
separate the tale from the rhythm and render it acceptable to the throng who 
will care for it alone. For the tale is part of the poem as the color is part of 
the flower, and if the reader develops an interest in a part perhaps, so goes the 
argument, he will ultimately come to know the charm and significance of the 
whole. Thus will he find himself elevated to ap intellectual plane where there 
is a subtler beauty and a larger outlook, while the course thither will lie along 
a way which will in itself prove a source of endless delight. 

These three luxurious little volumes, clad in the best of the binder^s 
treasures, illuminated with a unique group of characteristic portraits of the ten 
poets, and packed in a convenient box, contain twelve of the longer narrative 
poems of the Victorian era, — namely. The Ring and the Book, The Princess, 
Rose Mary, The Lovers of Gudrun, Enoch Arden, A Blot in the ’Scutcheon, 
Aurora Leigh, Sohrab and Rustum, The Two Babes, Tristram of Lyonesse, 
Lucile, and The Spanish Gypsy, — done into simple prose which retains all the 
flavor of the poetry, in so far as prose may, and sacrifices none of the essential 
details of the story. This plan brings within the comprehension of the general 
reader, what has long remained to him, literally, a sealed book. It also affords 
the developing mind of a boy or girl the means of gaining an intelligent acquaint- 
ance with the greatest poetical works of our era, and it will doubtless awaken in 
all alike a desire for that noble art which the whole world has united to love and 
honor. 

There never has been, to the reviewer’s knowledge, a poetical collection of 
the longer narrative poems of the Victorian era. This fact makes of unusual 
value a set of books which assembles, even in prose versions, these master- works 
of the passing generation of English poets. To have them at their best as 
tellers of tales, is to possess a compendium of the very greatest work done in 
English poetry during' the century. From this point of view alone. Tales from 
Ten PoetSj which the Messrs. Lippincott issue as a holiday feature, is a most 
acceptable work for the library. As a means of inculcating a taste for what is 
high and beautiful it will be of untold service to young and old. 

A breath of the morning and the odor of fresh green grass 

Recent Rambles, or , , i ^ ^ i 

In Touch with Na- pervade the harmonious cover and the handsome pages 
ture. By Charles c. of Dr. Abbott’s latest book. In touch with nature, indeed I 
Abbott, M.D. Qjjg ig literally in touch with the whole out-of-doors. 

Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year. 

Or man or woman, 

as he turns these printed leaves, grown on some fair tree of the intellect, and 
making a tranquil shade where you may rest a livelong afternoon amid the 
songs of birds and the rustle of the boughs overhead. Few that take walks see 
as this seer does. Few that stay at home hear half so much. He is the boon 
companion of every creature that flies or crawls, and each growing plant or 
great bole is his comrade. To read his books is to make a friend for life ; a new 
recruit in that select circle where are White of Selborne, and Thoreau, and 
Burroughs, and Jefferies : for this delightful author has elements of all these, 
and yet is as wholly himself as is an oak amid a cluster of its own kin. 

Dr. Abbott has written a half-dozen charming books on the tender and 
poetic side of nature, and they have been widely read. He has, besides, as an 
accomplished ethnologist, made prehistoric discoveries in the Delaware Valley 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


683 


which have gained for him the warmest praise from Mr. John Fiske, who has 
incorporated their results in his latest work, The Discovery of America. As a 
student of men and women and their characteristic ways, Dr. Abbott has never 
shown such penetration and humor as in these Recent Rambles, where chapters 
like A Victim of Thoreau or At a Public Sale are brimming with touches of 
quiet fun that bring the native Pennsylvanian close to one’s heart. 

For a side-pocket companion or a friend of a rainy day in-doors there is 
nothing that can approach such a book. It has the fascination of an amiable 
house-mate, and will take the sting out of the most confirmed ennui. As a 
Christmas gift it bears the double value, so rare to bookish gifts, of possessing a 
rich exterior as well as a wealth of good things within. The Messrs. Lippincott 
have seldom published a more prepossessing volume, either as to bevelled-edge 
cover, calendered paper, large clear type, or exquisite illustrations, which we 
betray no secret in revealing are from the author’s own active camera. 


The Drag-on of 
Wantley. His Rise, 
his Voracity, and 
his Downfall. A Ro- 
mance. By Owen 
Wister. Illustra- 
tions by John Stew- 
ardson. 


There is a species of high-bred yet delightful humor which 
we in America are too little familiar with. It gains its 
effects neither by irreverent use of things sacred nor by 
forced juxtapositisn of things incongruous. It is never 
bold, nor loud, nor vulgar ; but with a pleasant and a 
merry twinkle in the eye and an observant watch upon the 
little follies of men and women, it helps us to a quiet smile 
and to much wisdom. It is the humor of Lamb and of Thackeray of which we 
speak ; the deep, serious, but always gay, humor of Shakespeare’s fools. 

Now, of this rare quality, which has scant chance for growth where nothing 
is accounted funny which stops short of a guffaw, there is a charming abundance 
in The Dragon of Wantley, just issued in holiday garb by the J. B. Lippincott 
Company. Mr. Owen Wister, who has recently appeared as the author of some 
striking tales of Western life, has constructed from the very limited materials 
of the old ballad of the Dragon a humorous romance which so transforms that 
ancient song that even Bishop Percy, its preserver, would never recognize it. 
The broad touches of the ballad have been tamed by a cultured hand into a 
delicate wit which sparkles over every page, while the crude details have quite 
passed away into Mr. Wister’s graceful narrative. Indeed, little save the name 
of the original remains, though the quaint aroma of chivalry is preserved and 
rendered irresistible by unexpected contrasts with the things of to-day. 

It would deprive the reader of half the pleasure of reading this uncom- 
monly bright tale, were we to anticipate even a part of the plot. Suffice it to 
say that there is the prettiest and freshest of love-episodes woven through the 
mistletoe leaves of a hearty Christmas story; that the Baron of Wantley, the 
Monks of Oyster-le-Main, Elaine and Geoffrey, and little Whelpdale the 
Buttons, and old Popham the Butler, — that all these and a score more are the 
most laughable and lovable characters that we have encountered in fiction this 
many a day, — since, indeed, the time, as the author sings it in his tuneful 
preface, — 

When Betsinda held the Rose 

And the Ring decked Giglio^s finger. 


In Mr. John Stewardson, Mr. Wister has had an artistic colloborator boro. 
The humorous pen-and-ink work which illustrates the text and adds to the fun 
of almost every page opens an entirely new vein in art. With a well-bred restraint 


684 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


and a tact as sure as the author’s, the artist has produced some of those ex- 
quisitely funny scenes such as were plentiful enough in the palmy days of Phiz 
and Cruikshank and Tenniel, but which with us are rare indeed. The entire 
book is a re-incarnation of the racy humor of days when professional wits 
were scholars and gentlemen. May we not hope that The Dragon of Wantley 
will usher in a new Augustan age of such delicate humor and delightful art? 


Who reads the old English drama ? Doubtless every one 
Tales from the knows a score of bookish people who would like it to be 
LwiIs^Morris. thought they do ; who insinuatingly refer to Barrabas or 
Bobadil, who affect familiarity with Lamb’s Specimens or 
Dodsley’s Collection, But the real reader of those great old master-works is 
rare indeed. The taste is too fine to be common ; the plays themselves are too 
scarce for general consumption. What a boon, then, is it which Mr. Charles 
Morris, aided by the Lippincott press, has brought within the reach of all true 
lovers of books that are rich in literary ore ! He has given us examples from 
Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, and Massinger ; from Otway, and Susanna 
Centlivre, and Farquhar, and Hannah Cowley ; from Edward Moore, Home, 
Goldsmith, Thomas Holcroft, John O’Keefe, Sheridan, Colman, Thomas Mor- 
ton, John Tobin, Sheridan Knowles, Shell, and Talfourd, of the era we of 
to-day call past; and beside these we have a group of playwrights who have 
made great our own times : Lord Lytton, Tom Taylor, Boucicault, Victor Hugo, 
Hayden, and our countryman Boker. What an array is this of histrionic fame I 
The whole long line of English drama compressed into four dainty volumes. 
A banquet of literary rarities spread freely for all who will partake I 

But the feature which renders this work especially available for readers too 
hurried for research, too incurious to risk time on the difficult originals, is that 
Mr. Morris has given the plays in a condensed form, which sacrifices no essen- 
tial detail, but really concentrates the interest and makes their perusal a 
pleasure as well as a source of instruction. Lamb and his sister Mary long ago 
did this for Shakespeare’s plays ; Cowden Clarke did it for Chaucer. The sur- 
prising thing is that some one has not before this done it for the English and 
French drama. That the task could not have been intrusted to a better pen 
than that of the author of Half-Hours with the Best Humorous Authors will be 
acknowledged by every discriminating reader. Mr. Morris knows his literature, 
and he has made his choice like the man of taste he has always been. Each 
play is prefaced by a brief life of the author, and the portraits scattered through 
the books render them equal in value to an extra illustrated edition. 


Those who have ever opened some battered volume at a 
Handy-Book of Lit- book-stall and wandered on and on through its pages till 
erary^ c^uriojjUies. keeper grew restive, will understand the fascination of 

•v^aish. such a volume as this Handy- Book of Literary Curiosities y 

just from the Lippincott press. It is at once an Old Curi- 
osity Shop where literary bric-a-brac with a long genealogy may be picked up 
cheap, and a storehouse of learning done into household phrase which will be 
plain to every reader. You open its pages to find, and do find, some occult 
piece of information about a book, an author, or a local phrase, and you are 
entrapped into an hour’s reading. Knowledge more closely and clearly packed, 
more assimilative and palatable, it would be impossible to find. Indeed, Mr. 
Walsh stands almost alone in being able to make a book of reference that is as 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH 085 

readable as a book of tales. He has all but accomplished the impossible task, 
long a byword with the bookish, of introducing a plot into the dictionary. 

Who, for instance, has not heard, or even made, many a bull ? Who knows 
very much about that linguistic bovine? If an inquiring mind will turn to 
page 124 of Mr, Walsh’s book and glance over the item Bulls, Irish and not 
Irish, it will receive more information, be treated to more irresistibly funny 
examples, and come away with a more complete idea of the subject, than may 
be had from even the pages of the professional wits. Mr. Walsh’s jokes and 
anecdotes have the knack of being new — or so old as to have grown into a latter 
youth. He is that rare bird, an industrious scholar who knows and preserves a 
good thing when he sees it. His volume is a thick octavo crammed with entries 
from A to Z, but there is, to use a phrase appropriated solely, but unjustly, to 
the novel, ‘‘ not a dull page in it.” As a book of reference it is perfection ; as a 
book of quips and cranks and happy anecdotes it has seldom had an equal. 


Amor in Society. 
A Study from Life. 
By Julia Duhringr. 


The conditions of our complex modern life have given rise 
to a sort of writers on morals — including, as well, what is 
un-moral — who use the methods of the ancient Censors 
after the advanced manner of the fiyi de silcle. Romantic 
Love and Personal Beauty was one of this class of books ; Amor in Society is 
another. Koving abroad in the world of fashion and of human folly and love, 
the author makes personal discovery of much, and draws upon his own sen- 
sations for much that goes to make up life. Sometimes he scolds, sometimes 
laughs or taunts or ridicules ; and very frequently he casts away the lash, and 
even himself enters the mad dance of the social bacchanals. 

It is something after this sort one finds in Amor in Society, just issued from 
the Lippincott press. Its authoress has studied well the eddying currents of life, 
and knows them as a careful pilot knows the dangerous waters he must navigate. 
She is fearless, yet discreet, in the utterance of her observations : “ For a thinking 
person to wish to know all the mysteries of the greatest of human passions is 
entirely legitimate wishing: make the broadest, deepest investigation, explore 
fearlessly the labyrinth called Heart, yet observe invariably this simple precau- 
tion, — time, place, person.” This is at once shrewd and tactful, and it strikes 
the key-note of the admirable book which it introduces to the reader. 


Ambition, which, in the words of Hamlet, is a shadow’s 
By Luiah Ragsdale, shadow, IS, in the conception of Lulah Eagsdale, a very 
real factor in the life of the several people who act out their 
parts on the stage of her story. To Lydia Gentry, born an actress as well as a 
lady, it is a source of tragic pain. To Dane Macquoid, her devoted lover and 
victim, it is a terrible blight. . To the shifty theatrical manager, Mr. A. P. Garnett, 
it is a capital investment. Such, in short, is the book. Lydia springs from an 
impoverished Southern family, and, after severe experiences, nobly succeeds on 
a New York stage. Mr. Garnett offers her his business talents and his hand. 
She accepts both, and starts down to her country home for study and a summer’s 
rest. In the private production of her own play she is brought into contact with 
Dane Macquoid, and thence arises a series of scenes which will be refreshing in 
their passionate vigor to even the most blase of novel-readers. Lulah Eagsdale 
has very much of the wild freedom and subtle emotion of Am41ie Eives, and 
these traits, held in check by a sufficiently correct taste, have furnished forth 


686 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH 


the material for a book warm with a woman’s aspirations. The Lippincotts 
have provided handsome letter-press, and a striking paper cover of pink which 
falls in aptly with the heightened tone of the tale. 

By Subtle Fra- pleasant novel is redolent of the sweet odors of a 

grance Held. By garden where grew not only the blossoms of the round 
but a beautiful character and a lovely face. Like a 
soft atmosphere of rest come into the story the quiet voice 
and acts of Aunt Lydia, who makes her flowers a daily parable, drawing wisdom 
from them and conversing with them as friend to friend. Hence, when Frances 
Russell goes to live with Aunt Lydia, she too imbibes a love for the homely 
garden, and when, far oflf in Europe, she is tempted to make a false match, one 
waft of the fragrance known of old and associated with tranquil happiness and 
content saves her from herself. She gathers, at last, ‘‘ the far-off interest of 
tears,” and lives anew amid the saving odors of the old garden. The Messrs. 
Lippincott have published By Subtle Fragrance Held in a most attractive manner, 
and it will please, outside and in, all who find pleasure in the fiction of every- 
day life which is neither dull nor sensational. 

And lifers as dear when the leaves are sere 
Gleams. and Echoes. As in the spring's first thrall." 

By A. R. G. 

This is the burden of A. R. G., whether it come from her 
Night Etchings or from this sumptuous holiday volume just put forth from the 
Lippincott press. Gleams and Echoes is well named. It is full of a sobered 
sunlight which falls through the opening clouds and glints among the autumnal 
foliage of grief. But it is still genuine sunlight, and with its sympathetic glow 
will help to assuage the hearts of those who have themselves come to a mellow 
harbor of experience. Nothing could be sweeter than the nTinor-chorded verse 
of Sweet Fern, of My Secret, of Wild Rose, and of Beyond. They leave a 
pleasant, wistful music in the ears and a far-away look of musing in the eyes of 
the reader which will make them favored companions through the year. The 
volume is, however, interleaved with pictures by C. Y. Turner, H. Bolton Jones, 
F. B. Schell, B. West Clinedinst, Frederick Dielman, and W. H. Lippincott, en- 
graved on wood by G. P. Williams, A. E. Anderson, and C. H. Reed, which 
render it of peculiar fitness for Christmas. The cover and internal designs have 
a charming holiday look and form a rich receptacle for the poetic thoughts of 
the authoress. 


JUVENILIA 


To put grown-up wisdom into little-folks’ speech ; to find 
out the heart of a child with humor and fancy and beauty ; 
to send across the sea from age-old and storied lands legends 
and tales which must work infinite good and pleasure to the 
young hearts of this new country : all this requires exquisite 
gifts and sympathies and a deep love of children. Any one, 
young or old, who takes up Bimbi will discover at the outset that it is a book 
of an unusual sort. The first dozen pages will fill him with a desire to read 


Bimbi. Stories for 
Children. By Lou- 
isa de la Ramg 
(Ouida). Illustra- 
ted by Edmund H. 
Garrett. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


687 


through to the cover. When he has done so he will acknowledge that each 
story and all the stories together give forth, as a subtle atmosphere, beauty and 
sympathy and love for little children. 

It has of late been insisted, by heedful writers on the subject of juvenile 
reading, that children know far more than they are credited with. It is held 
that books of the homiletic or babyish sort should be abandoned, and a closer 
camaraderie established between adult tale-teller and youthful reader. There 
seems to be no adequate answer to so sane an argument. The advance in edu- 
cational science has proved it true, while the mother^s instinct has endorsed it 
cordially. 

Here, then, from a story-teller who has won the hearts of a whole genera- 
tion of older readers, come nine Stories for Children, which make an appeal 
for equality between young and old, and yet are simple and chaste and innocent 
enough to be comprehended by even a youngster just out of his ABC. The 
tales are of a varied sort : graceful and delicate allegories ; biography done into 
a pretty web of fiction ; little narratives that touch the heart ; and gay passages 
to make a happy contrast. They are by no means too young for the oldest of 
heads and hearts, nor too old for the youngest, and the Messrs. Lippincott, 
always the publishers of Ouida in this country, have dressed them in a suit 
worthy of their dainty texture. There are exquisite pictures from the pen of 
Mr. Edmund H. Garrett, illustrator par excellence of such subjects, to each of 
the nine stories, and a cover of burlap stamped in gold which gives a proper 
distinction to so charming a book. 


Outdoor Games and 
Recreations. Edited 
by G. Andrew 
Hutchison. With 
over 300 Illustra- 
tions. 


A veritable recreative text-book, prepared by experts in 
their several subjects.’^ This is what Mr. G. Andrew 
Hutchison, the editor, calls his Boy^s Own Outdoor Book, 
published by the J. B. Lippincott Company, and he is becom- 
ingly modest in his description. A score of years ago such 
a volume would have been looked upon as phenomenal. 
We can well remember the queer, antiquated cuts of the Boy^s Own of those 
days; and who could ever find in it a game or a sport up to date? That was 
out of the question, but still there were buyers, for there was nothing newer 
to buy. Now, all is changed. Here are three hundred and seventy-five pages 
of text, by Dr. W. G. Grace, on Cricket; by an Oxford M.A. and Coach, on 
Swimming; by Capt. Matthew Webb, on Sea-Bathing; on Yachting, by Frank 
Cowper, M.A. ; on Canoeing, Cycling, Health and Etiquette, Hare and 
Hounds, Skating, Tobogganing, Bowls, Golf, Football, and Tennis. There 
are cuts to illustrate each subject, a handsome, durable cover, and, better than 
all, an assurance that the motto of the editor has been : Manliness is an essential 
part of Christianity. 


There are only a few things that never grow old, and fore- 
most among them are the nursery rhymes and tales we 
were all brought up on. Even we, ourselves, seem to be 
everlastingly young as we read them over and over again, 
for they have in them, perennially, the touchstone of youth. 
Here they come, once more ; this time issued by the Lip- 
pincotts in a new dress, and with pictures by new brushes that have caught 
their old-time feeling ; yet they themselves are as fresh as this very morning. 


I. Treasury of 
Pleasure-Books. II. 
Treasury of 0 1 d- 
Fashioned Fairy- 
Tales. Illustrated. 


688 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


The Treasury of Pleasure- Books contains Puss in Boots, The House that 
Jack Built, Cock Robin, Mother Hubbard, The Old Woman and her Pig, 
Goody Two-Shoes, Peter Piper, and A Apple-Pie. The Treasury of Old- 
Fashioned Fairy-Tales includes Cinderella, Dame Trot, Whittington and his 
Cat, Jack the Giant-Killer, Red Riding-Hood, Ali Baba, Blue Beard, Aladdin, 
and The Fairy-Tale Alphabet. Could even a very covetous youngster ask more ? 
The colored frontispiece alone ought to satisfy his infantile eyes the Christmas 
through. He will keep the charm of the text his whole life long. 

Boys and girls like nothing so much as to read about boys 

Axel Ebersen. The girls. Life is One long imitation with most of us, and 

Graduate of TJpsala. . . , « i/. i i i .1 . 

By A. Laurie. therefore needful that, while yet at our most im- 

pressionable period, we should be provided with fair and 
good things to imitate. If any boy or girl who cares for a prime story will take 
up Axel EberseUy just published by the J. B. Lippincott Company, he or she will 
find not only a tale that draws you on page after page to the end, but, in spite 
of themselves, a worthy example, lessons in kindliness and charity, and love 
for home and parents. Axel Ebersen is the life of a Swedish boy who went 
through many ups and downs, and at last became a graduate of Upsala College 
and lifted his family out of poverty and distress. The book will make a capital 
Christmas gift. It is just the thing to read aloud around the Yule-log, which 
never burns so brightly and cosily as in Sweden and the north. The illustrations 
are as attractive as the story, and will please young and old alike. 

An Affair of Honor is not, in this case, settled by the sword, 
but through the unconscious mediation of a little child. 
Alicia Moray is a tiny darling who says many quaint things 
and does many more with a sweet unconsciousness that is 
entirely captivating. She is neither a diminutive prig nor 
an infant phenomenon, as so many of her kin in books are prone to be, and her 
natural little ways will beguile all her young sisters and brothers who read 
pretty books into loving her very much and following in her footsteps. The pic- 
tures which sprinkle the handsome pages of the book are done in the newest and 
most alluring manner known to black-and-white, and the covers are an undeni- 
able credit to the Lippincott house, from which the volume hails. For such a 
Christmas gift any boy or girl ought to be good and refrain from teasing the cat 
the whole year through. 

Uncle Bill, who was by no means a very old or very ugly 
uncle, had his hands full with the children. They were 
driven away from town by a fever in their home, and he 
took them off* to Tenby, in Wales, to relieve their parents. 
What happened to him and them — and many adventurous 
and funny things did happen — is told by Helen Milman, 
authoress also of those successful* books. Boy and The Little Ladies^ in her 
brightest manner. There is an unending play of fancy and humor over the 
pages, whose typographical taste is equal to their literary merit. The illustra- 
tions by the author are a delight to the eye, and the holiday apparel of the book 
a commendation to the publishers (Lippincotts) who produce it. 


Uncle Biira Chil- 
dren. By Helen Mil- 
man. With Illus- 
trations by the 
Author. 


An Affair of Honor. 
By Alice Weber. Il- 
lustrated by Emily 
J. Harding-. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


689 


CUEEENT NOTES. 


The large number of alum baking powders upon the market is a menace to 
the public health. These articles are condemned by every physician, and have 
been denounced in the public reports of almost every board of health of the 
country. In many States attempts have been made to control their sale. In 
England, Germany, and France, the sale of bread containing alum is prohibited 
by law. 

Notwithstanding these facts, and the evident harmfulness of the alum 
baking powder, it is found for sale in almost every grocery-store in the land. 
The manufacturers and purveyors of these articles seemingly care little for the 
public good, so long as they can reap the e.normous profits which the articles 
afford. It is urged upon consumers because of its lower price, or with the glit- 
tering attraction of some worthless gift. 

The Canadian government recently issued an official report, giving the 
names of the different alum baking powders sold there, in w^hich it states ; 

Alum is entirely objectionable as a substitute for cream of tartar in baking 
powders, and ought not to be allowed in any well-appointed bakery. Not only 
is the resulting sulphate of soda a powerful purgative and certain to interfere 
with normal digestive process when habitually taken into the system, but the 
alumina, set free by the reaction of the powder, is capable of rendering in- 
soluble and unavailable the phosphoric acid and phosphates naturally present 
in food. 

Alum-phosphate powders are more objectionable than the foregoing.^^ 

Professor J. W. Mallett, of the University of Virginia, has recently made 
an exhaustive investigation to determine whether food raised with alum baking 
powder is injurious to health or not. We find his conclusions published in the 
Chemical News, of London, as follows: 

From the general nature of the results obtained, the conclusion may 
fairly be deduced that not only alum itself, but the residues which its use in 
baking powder leaves in bread, cannot be viewed as harmless, but must be 
ranked as objectionable, and should be avoided when the object aimed at is the 
production of wholesome bread.^^ 

An examination of the baking powders, and an exposure of the names of 
the alum goods, would be of great advantage to the public. Until this is done, 
consumers should exercise the greatest care and purchase only some well-known 
brand of established reputation for purity and wholesomeness. 

Soldering Metals to Glass. — According to the Pharmaceutical Record, 
an alloy of ninety-five parts of tin and five parts of copper will connect metals 
with glass. The alloy is prepared by pouring the copper into the molten tin, 
stirring with a wooden mixer, and afterwards remelting. It adheres strongly to 
clean glass surfaces, and has the same rate of expansion as glass. By adding 
from one-half to one per cent, of lead or zinc, the alloy may be rendered softer 
or harder, or more or less easily fusible, as required. It may also be used for 
coating metals, to which it imparts a silvery appearance. 

VoL. L.— 45 


690 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Kussian Justice. — Oriental justice sometimes finds a parallel in Eussia, 
where judges and lawyers see no difficulty in making eccentric decisions and 
taking the meat of the nut for themselves, leaving the shell for plaintiff and 
defendant. One day, at a village market, a shoemaker bought a calfskin of a 
farmer for two and a half roubles, and, having no money with him, went home 
to procure it. 

The farmer, meanwhile, sold the skin to a second buyer, for three roubles. 
Then the original buyer returned, and, when he discovered the trick that had been 
played, was so indignant that a quarrel ensued, and the matter was brought 
before a justice. 

“ You bought the skin first said the latter to the shoemaker, after listen- 
ing to the evidence. 

Yes.” 

“ For how much ?” 

“ Two and a half roubles.” 

‘‘ Have you the money ?” 

Yes.” 

Put it on the table.” 

Then, turning to the second buyer, the justice asked, “ You bought the skin 
afterward and paid for it?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How much did you pay ?” 

“Three roubles.” 

“ You have the skin ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Put it under the table.” 

The man obeyed, and the farmer was next addressed. 

“ You agreed to sell for two and a half roubles, and, as the buyer did not 
return promptly with the money, you sold to another for three roubles?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Have you the three roubles ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Put them on the table.” 

When this had been done, the judge delivered his decision. “ The shoe- 
maker is to blame for bargaining without money, and thereby endangering the 
peace of the town. The second buyer is to blame for outbidding another, and 
the seller for dealing with people without money. Now all three of you go. 
March !” 

And they went, perforce, leaving skin and money behind them. — Youth^s 
Companion. 

Mrs. Van Eensselaer Cruger’s Works. — When, some three years ago, 
the name of “Julien Gordon” became known as the property of Mrs. Van 
Eensselaer Cruger, literary people shrugged their shoulders and put the fact 
down as the whim of another wealthy society-leader with literary aspirations. 
But the truth became gradually apparent that Mrs. CrugePs pen possessed 
literary skill, and her work began to receive respectful consideration at the 
hands of the critics. Since that time her literary career has been steadily on 
the upward march. Each one of her books has been successful, and to-day her 
stories command high prices. — Edward W. Bok. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


691 


JUST IN TIME 

To save its life, has been the testimony of many 
a mother, who has given Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral 
to her little ones in an 
hour of danger. Those 
who provide themselves 
with this great emer- 
gency medicine, have at 
hand a prompt and sure 
remedy in cases of croup, 
bronchitis, whooping 
cough, sore throat, and 
sudden colds. Taken in 
the early stages of Con- 
sumption, Ayer’s Cherry 
Pectoral checks further 
progress of the disease, 
and even at a later 
period, it eases the cough, and affords refreshing 
sleep. For hoarseness, loss of voice, preacher’s 
sore throat, and other derangements of the vocal 
organs, this preparation has no equal, and is 
highly recommended by public speakers. 

Ayer s Cherry Pectoral 

Prepared by Dr. J. 0. Ayer & Oo., Lowell, Mass. 



THE FALL 

With its chill rains, sodden leaves, and variable temperature, is a 
trying season. To tone up the system and make it proof against 
malarial influences, purify and invigorate the blood with 

AYER’S Sarsaparilla 

Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer 5c Co., Lowell, Mass. 

Has cured others, will cure you. 


692 


CURRENT NOTES. 


THE FAMINE IN RUSSIA. 

Ill shall it be in time to come for those 
Who, careless living ^neath a bounteous sky. 

Calmly indifferent, can hear the cry 
Of thousands helpless in the mortal throes 
Of desolating hunger. If we chose, 

What saving ships across the sea should fly, 

Climbing th’ uneasy wave, each day more nigh 
To the sad northern land of steppes and snows I 

Almighty God ! If by a miracle, 

As in old days, thou now shouldst prove thy power 
And show the exceeding brightness of thy face 

So long withdrawn ! With love unspeakable 

Touch thou men^s hearts, and but for one short hour 
Let mercy all the suffering world embrace. 

Flora Macdonald Shearer, 

in The California Magazine, 

Some Good Traits in a Monarch. — I remember in my youth hearing 
of the following incident indicative of the courtesy of George IV. 

Driving one day through the Avenue in Windsor Park, he met a coarse, 
blustering fellow, one of those who entertained no admiration for royalty ; on 
being told by a companion who sat beside him that the king’s phaeton was 
approaching and that he must uncover, he replied with an oath, and loud 
enough to be heard by his Majesty, “ I won’t take off my hat to anybody.” 

The king drew up, lifted his own hat, and said, with a smile worthy of 
“ Prince Florizel,” “ I would take off mine to the meanest of ray subjects.” The 
man was dumfounded, but by the time he had sufficiently recovered himself to 
return the salute the king had driven on. 

A somewhat similar anecdote, illustrative of better qualities in his nature 
than tradition is wont to credit him with, is the following : 

The king was taking an airing on the Downs near Brighton, in the spring 
of 1820, accompanied by Sir B. Bloomfield, when a farmer rode up to and 
addressed the latter, respectfully observing that the horses, in diverging from 
the usual track, had got upon land where seed was sown, the trampling of which 
would do him injury. The sovereign bowed, signified his approbation of the 
notice thus given, and the horses were instantly guided to the high-road. — 
Gossip of the Century 

His Work. — While gazing upon the body, and in fact throughout the 
afternoon, I thought but little of Whittier the poet, but much of Whittier the 
friend of man. In fancy I again saw him championing the cause of the op- 
pressed slave or defending the rights of the poor and down-trodden everywhere. 
However much I tried, I could not lose sight of the spectre. It kept returning 
with increasing vividness until at last it seemed to grow into a statue of immense 
proportions. The face of the bard appeared to remain unchanged, but I read 
beneath the word ^‘Humanity,” and then I realized as never before for what 
Whittier had lived.—MYRON H. Goodwin: At Whittier's Funeralf in the 
Twentieth Century, 


CURRENT NOTES. 


693 


A Daring Adventurer. — Captain 
William A. Andrews, already famous for 
his daring adventures in small boats on 
the stormy Atlantic, lately set sail on a 
novel and interesting voyage. 

He crossed the ocean twice before, 
first in the “ Nautilus/^ when he was ac- 
companied by his brother, who has since 
died, and again in the Mermaid,^’ both 
of these trips being made to Land’s End, 
England. A few years ago he again at- 
tempted the passage, in a boat called the 
Dark Secret,” but, after battling with contrary winds, high seas, and terrific 
storms, he reluctantly consented to give up his efforts after a struggle of sixty- 
two days, and returned to America on a bark, which kindly consented to take 
him and his sea-beaten boat back to New York. 

The captain is a very interesting character. He is a man of fixed purposes, 
very hard to turn from the object which he has in view. He has made the sub- 
ject of small-boat sailing such a study that he is prepared to meet every argu- 
ment against the risks which spring to the minds of his critics. Yet the New 
York Herald put the case in a nutshelDwhen it said, The fact that Captain 
Andrews can cross the ocean in a cockle-shell merely proves that small boats are 
safe when a Captain Andrews sails them. Amateurs should remember this 
when the wind begins to sing.” 

The captain himself says that “ half the people who are drowned lose their 
lives because they do not realize that a boat cannot sink. An iron vessel might, 
or a ship loaded with a heavy cargo, but a row-boat, sail-boat, or ordinary wooden 
vessel may capsize, but will, nevertheless, float. The passengers on the great 
ocean steamers run some risk when they go to sea, but all around the deck they 
see wooden boats hung up on which they are taught to depend for their lives if 
the big steamer goes down. These boats are often crushed against the great 
vessel or are capsized in lowering. I am alone in a wooden boat entirely under 
my own control, and, in my opinion, far safer than others.” An ingenious 
theory, but hardly a fair one. 

Captain Andrews is by trade a piano-maker. He built the “ Sapolio” at 
Atlantic City in the presence of hundreds of people, and exhibited it on the 
Long Pier for several weeks. It is a canvas folding boat lined with half-inch 
cedar and decked over with the same. In order to fold it there must be three 
long canvas hinges from stem to stern, and the daring captain writes by an 
incoming ship (when he is hundreds of miles from shore) that he finds the 
“ ‘ Sapolio’ in a sea-way is a scrubber, but very leaky.”' No better proof of his 
coolness and pluck could be given. 

The start was made at 4.30, Wednesday, July 20, the destination being 
Palos, Spain. Captain Andrews was instructed to scour the seas until he dis- 
covered that port and the starting- place of Columbus. Sailing in a fourteen- 
foot boat without so much as a hot cup of coffee to vary his diet of biscuits and 
canned goods, he, single-handled, has eclipsed the record of that Spanish- 
Italian adventurer who almost failed to cross the great ocean with three ships 
and one hundred and fifty men, after securing the queen’s jewels to pawn and 
having the blessing of the Church thrown in. 



694 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Keports were received from many of the vessels that spoke the “ Sapolio/’ 
reporting the captain well. 

A letter from the captain, written in mid-ocean, describes his life at sea : 

“ It is very hard for me to write intelligibly while my little ship ‘ Sapolio^ 
is prancing over the waves at the rate of five miles an hour. 

‘‘ Well, here I am more than ‘ half seas’ over, only twenty-six days since 
the City of Hotels on the Jersey coast faded from my view, and I have averaged 
about eighty-four miles per day. My mainsail has been furled but three times, 
and then by stress of weather at night. My jib has not been down yet. The 
‘ Sapolio,’ I firmly believe, is the ablest and fastest boat of her size in the world. 
Let any of our yachtsmen sail eighty-four miles in one day in a fourteen-and- 
one-half-foot boat and he ought to be proud of it ; but let him sail that distance 
over a tempestuous sea for twenty-six consecutive days and he would have a 
pretty fair idea of what the ‘ Sapolio’ is doing. For two weeks after we started 
she leaked considerably, but the cotton fibre of the canvas has no doubt swelled, 
so that but little now oozes through. 

“ As for sleep, I cuddle down in one corner of the cockpit for forty winks, 
while she goes right along, often better than when I am at the helm. I only 
close one eye at a time, and am ever on the alert for trouble.” 

On Friday, August 26, he landed at Terceira, one of the Azores, and his 
letter tells how he was lionized by the people : 

I arrived on the thirty-sixth day from Atlantic City, and, to tell the truth, 
the people are actually excited over the little ‘ Sapolio’ and the solitam navi- 
gateur. After loads of salutations, lunched with Senor Ferreira Borralho, a 
prominent merchant, and drove to his country residence in the suburbs, and at 
evening a full brass band with many torch-lights escorted us from place to 
place, rockets were sent up, and roses were showered over me, and I was often 
sprinkled with orange-flower water. To-morrow, Sunday, they insist that I shall 
see the bull-fight, and Monday I am to be escorted by a grand aquatic flotilla 
from here. I have had difficulty in obtaining leisure to prepare my correspond- 
ence, and was forced to retire to avoid the throngs that thwarted my movements 
while on the street.” 

The captain then proceeded on his voyage of discovery, and the following 
cable proclaimed the success of his voyage and proved his title of “ the cham- 
pion skipper of the world :” 

Lisbon, September 21. — Captain Andrews arrived here to-day in the dory 
^Sapolio.’ The captain is well, and reports that he intended to stop at Fayal, 
but passed it while asleep.” 

Such an effort should interest all Americans as a test of pluck, endurance, 
and good seamanship. 

How THEY CARRY THEIR OWN SUPPLIES. — Guatemalans believe that there 
is no better coffee in the world than that raised on their own plantations, and 
Central American coffee has of late years acquired a high reputation in the 
markets of the world. It is usual for wealthy Guatemalans to make sure of 
good coffee in travelling by taking along a store of their own. A long glass tube 
several inches in diameter, but tapering to a funnel at one end, is filled with 
ground coffee, and through the mass is poured cold water. A strong solution of 
coffee slowly drips from the narrow end of the tube, and this liquid is carefully 
put up in air-tight vessels, to be warmed in small quantities and drunk on the 
journey . — The Argonaut, 


CURRENT NOTES. 


695 


IT TAKES SAND 

to lead the world in any enterprise, and especially 
in the manufacture of Cut Glass. The artisans of 
Egypt, Italy, Bohemia, France, and England have 
been 57 centuries trying to perfect the art. In less 
than half a century America leads the world. 



This fact will be a revelation to the foreign tourists 
in 1893. No surprise to Americans, however, that 
in our above-pictured Industrial Palace can be seen 
at the World' s Fair in 1893 the manufacture of the 
finest quality of Cut Glassware in the World. 


Ask only for goods with this 
Trade Mark. 

Get at the “ Facts on Cut Glass” 
at the World’s Fair. Now ready. 
Sent free. 


The LIBBEY GLASS CO., 

of Toledo, Ohio, has the exclusive right to 
manufacture American Cut Glass at the 
World’s Fair. 


696 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Cremation. — In the early days of the new movement for the cremation of 
the body the religious bodies formed a strong opposition to it, and even to-day 
in Germany church and state make it impossible for the movement to advance 
rapidly. The state church openly prohibits the exercise of religious rites by a 
clergyman at incinerations, and petitions to the government for a removal of 
obstacles have been persistently ignored. But to-day in the United States 
some of the most enthusiastic cremationists are of the religious order, and there 
is no longer any objection, open or secret, met with from this quarter. The 
chief difficulty in the way appears to be the individual sensitiveness to any 
change in the burial custom, and an inherited belief that the body ought to rot 
in the ground rather than be burned in a clean furnace. — George Ethelbert 
Walsh, in Frank Leslie’s. 

Disobeying Kings. — The command of a regiment having fallen vacant, 
George IV. said to Wellington, who was on a visit at Windsor, “Arthur, there 
is a regiment vacant: gazette Lord to the vacancy.” 

“ It is impossible, please your Majesty ; there are generals who have seen 
much service, now advanced in life, whose turn should be first served.” 

“Never mind that, Arthur; gazette Lord .” 

The duke bowed, and, splendide mendax^ went straight up to town and 
gazetted Sir Konald Fergusson, whose services entitled him to the vacancy. 
The king had the discretion to wink at this disobedience on the part of 
Wellington, and made no further allusion to the matter. 

During the reign of George III. a matter of this kind was managed 
differently. A situation of some importance in the government having become 
vacant, the king heedlessly promised it to an individual he wished to oblige ; 
but the Cabinet had other views, and resolved these should be carried out. 
Accordingly, a blank form was drawn up, with the intention of paying his 
Majesty the empty compliment of asking what name should be inserted in the 
commission. Drawing up the form, however, was one thing, braving the royal 
displeasure was another, and the members of the Cabinet w^ere all so unwilling 
to undertake making the application, that they at last agreed to decide the 
question by lot. The task fell to the witty Lord Chesterfield, who boldly 
entered the royal closet with the blank commission in one hand, and a pen in 
the other, respectfully soliciting his Majesty's pleasure. After some discussion 
on the king's choice, which the noble lord delicately but firmly demonstrated 
to his Majesty could not be complied with, the king angrily turned from him, 
saying, “ Then give it to the devil.” Chesterfield hereupon made as if about to 
fill up the blank, but suddenly paused to inquire, “ Would your Majesty please 
that this commission should follow the usual form, ‘ To our trusty and well- 
beloved cousin, the devil’ ? ” At this the king could not resist a smile, and the 
Cabinet carried the day. — “ Gossip of the Century'^ 

Queer Justice. — A quaint specimen of a judge who had been an Irish 
hedge-schoolmaster in his time once summed up a case as follows; 

“ The learned counsel for the plaintiff has made a very fine argument, — a 
splendid argument. Indade, I am thinking his argument unanswerable. And 
the distinguished counsel for the defendant has made an illigant argument, — 
an argument that seems to be very sound. I think it is unanswerable. In- 
dade, gentlemen, I think both your arguments are unanswerable. So I dismiss 
the case .” — The Green Bag. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


697 



The month of driving', pelt- 
ing rain and sleet ; dangerous 
to the weak; trying even to the 
rugged. 

To those who are weak, quick 
health fortification is at this 
time imperative. The system forti- 
fied with SCOTT’S EMULSION is 
well equipped to withstand the tax 
imposed by winter. Sudden Colds, 
Coughs, and Throat troubles yield 
promptly to its use — equally important, 
it provides the system with an armor of 
flesh and strength that lessens chances of simi- 
lar attacks later on. 


SCOTT’S EMULSION 

is Cod-Liver Oil made palatable and easy of assimilation. It is the essence of the 
life of all foods, — FAT. It checks Consumption and other forms of wasting diseases 
by building tissue anew — ^nothing mysterious — simply FOOD-LIFE going to SUSTAIN 
LIFE. The union of Hypophosphites of Lime and Soda adds to it a tonic effect 
wonderfully invigorating to brain and nerve. 


Prepared by SCOTT & BOWNE, Chemists^ New York. . Sold by All Druggists. 


698 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Oysters on the Deep Shell. — A Baltimore caterer says, ‘ Oysters on 
the deep shell,’ I maintain, is a very proper term, and not an imaginary one, 
either. There are thousands of diners who would not give an order for oysters 
on shell without specially stating that they wished them on the deep shell. The 
reason is simply this, as nearly every hotel-man knows : every oyster has a deep 
shell, or, to be more explicit, one side or half of the shell is more hollow than 
the other ; hence the term ‘ deep shell.’ Now, if the oyster when opened were 
left in this deep^side or half of the shell, it would naturally retain much of its 
flavor. If it were left on the flat half of the shell, the juice would run off, leav- 
ing the oyster dry, and catsup, vinegar, etc., would also run off more freely. 
All oysters served in a restaurant by me are ‘banked’ on ice, which is shaved 
fine and put on plates ; now if my oysters were left on the ‘ flat’ instead of the 
‘deep’ shell they would lose all their juice, which would run off on the table- 
cloth and make it unsightly for the course to follow. Were I to employ an 
‘ oysterman’ and he failed to stack his oysters with the deep shell down, I would 
think he did not fully understand his business.” — Table Talk, 

A King’s Humor. — William IV. was not without a sense of humor, and 
could tell an amusing story now and then, in a way which showed how fully he 
relished the joke. 

One day, at a dinner given by George IV., at “The Cottage,” Windsor 
Park, in 1827, he related with much drollery the following personal anecdote. 

“ I had been riding one day,” said his Koyal Highness, “ unattended by a 
groom, between Teddington and Hampton Wick, when I was overtaken by a 
butcher’s boy on horseback, with a tray of meat under his arm. 

“ ‘ Nice pony that of your’n, old gen’leman,’ said he. 

“ ‘ Pretty fair,’ I answered. 

“ ‘ Mine’s a good un, too,’ was his rejoinder ; and he added, ‘ I’ll wager 
you a pot of beer, old man, you don’t trot to Hampton Wick quicker nor me.’ 

“I declined the match,” continued the duke, “and the butcher’s boy, 
as he struck his single spur into his nag’s side, turned back and called out 
with contemptuous sneer, ‘I knowed you was only a muff.’” — ''Gossip of the 
CenturyJ^ 

In Venezuela. — If the life in the cities of Venezuela combines all the 
attractions of culture and refinement, that which is led in the smaller places in 
the interior is none the less pleasant. In these interior, far-away villages there 
is still found much of that patriarchal existence which a people loses with the 
increase of population, with the commingling of races, and with the general 
struggle for existence, in the centres of progress and civilization. People live 
there in a sort of primitive innocence, — not, of course, a full-fledged Golden 
Age, without the idea of mine and thine, but surrounded by a rare sincerity and 
good feeling. Men there exchange service, in the same way that interests are 
exchanged in metropolitan life. Much is certainly contributed to this state of 
things by a land that provides plenty for all, by a benign climate, and by a 
certain limit to ambition. 

The Venezuelans still preserve the type of the Spanish race that gave them 
origin, although some have acquired other traits through the influence of climate, 
and others by the crossing of races, particularly with the native races, who in Ven- 
ezuela preserve their primitive beauty, manly in the men and delicate and graceful 
in the women. — Don Nicanor Bolet-Paraza, in the New England Magazine, 


CURRENT NOTES. 


699 


y\n Efficient 
[-jealth Qfficer 

ALWAYS READY FOR DUTY 

POND’S EXTRACT 

Wherever inflammation exists 
POND’S EXTRACT will find 
and will allay it. It is in> 
valuable for CATARRH, 
PILES, COLDS, SORE 
EYES, SORE THROAT, 
HOARSENESS, RHEU= 
MATISM, WOUNDS, 
BRUISES, SPRAINS, 
all HEMORRHAGES and 
INFLAMM^IONS. 

REFUSE SUBSTITUTES. 

Genuine gfoods manufactured only by 
Pond’s Extract Co., 76 Fifth Avenue, New 
York. 


Seeing your name in print 
is not advertising. The thing 
you sell — what it is, what uses it 
serves, the terms on which it may 
be had — tell this truthfully and 
agreeably, and you advertise. 

The hardest commodity to 
describe in the abstract is life in- 
surance. There are so many dif- 
ferent varieties, covering differ- 
ent contingencies, for different 
periods, at different ages, at dif- 
ferent costs ; and yet all well and 
wisely ada^pted to meet and fully 
answer general and special needs; 
and all resting upon a scientific 
basis of knowledge from experi- 
ence. 

In the concrete it is easy. 
Given your age, the protect] 
needed, the investment desired, 
just a few particulars, in a mo- 
ment the company sets out to fit 
you with a policy ; it tells you its 
features, shows you its cost, and 
in a mutual company the causes 
of that cost; all its details, the 
policy itself, go to you for exami- 
nation. And the reason for this 
solicitude? A profit? No; sim- 
ply to extend the law of average and reduce cost to all. You may not wish specific 
information ; but rather a resume of principles and methods. Get the latter at 
least. Send for “ The How and the WhyP Postage is paid by The 
Mutual Life Insurance Co., 921-3-5 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



700 


CURRENT NOTES. 


^CEPTIN’ JIM. 

We boys ^ud run aii^ romp an’ play 
From early morn to close of day ; 

We’d tramp for miles with dog an’ gun, 

An’ think that huntin’ was such fun, 

’Ceptin’ Jim. 

He wuz a cripple, from his birth. 

An’ was no sort o’ use on earth. 

His mother waz the widder FI inn, , 

AVho hadn’t nary chick nor kin 
’Ceptin’ Jim. 

She lived by takin’ washin’ in. 

The widder’s face wuz sharp and thin ; 

Hard work had left its creases there. 

And no one thought her sweet nor fair, 

’Ceptin’ Jim. 

One day we went below the mill. 

Where shadows fell so cool and still, 

A-fishin’ thar fer perch an’ trout. 

An’ no one knew we were about, 

’Ceptin’ Jim, 

When some one came and raised the sluice 
An’ turned the rush o’ water loose; 

While everything began to go, 

An’ we were all down thar below, 

’Ceptin’ Jim. 

He got a pole an’ limped aroun’ 

An’ pried the gate back to the ground. 

Then slipped. * * * 

We used ter gather by 
A little grave where grass grew high. 

All, ’ceptin’ Jim. 

Lewis E. Clement, in Minneapolis Tribune. 

A Little Unreasonable. — It became the solemn duty of Justice to 

pass sentence on an aged man named George Bliss, for stealing a hog: 

^^It is a shame that a man of your age should be giving his mind up to 
stealing. Do you know any reason why sentence should not be pronounced on 
you according to law ?” 

“ Now, judge,” was the reply of the aged sinner Bliss, this is getting to be 
a trifle monotonous. I would like to know how a fellow can manage to please 
you judges. When I was only seventeen years old, I got three years, and the 
judge said I ought to be ashamed of myself for stealing at my age. When I 
was forty, I got five years, and that judge said it was a shame that a man in his 
very best years should steal. And now, when I am seventy years of age, here 
you come and tell me the same old story. Now, I would like to know what 
year of a man’s life is the right one, according to your notion .” — The Green Bag. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


701 


“We are advertised by our loving friends.’’ 

King Henry VI. 

A Mellin’s Food Boy. 



ARTHUR H. FLYNN, Deadwood, S. D. 

Our book for the instruction of mothers, ^^The Care and Feeding of 
Infants/^ will be mailed free to any address upon request. 

THE DOLIBER-GOODALE CO., Boston, Mass. 


702 


CURRENT NOTES. 


What To Do and What Not To Do.— The New York Board of Health 
has issued the following instructions to the public: 

“ Healthy persons ' catch’ cholera by taking into their systems through the 
mouth, as in their food or drink, or from their hands, knives, forks, plates, 
tumblers, clothing, etc., the germs of the disease, which are always present in 
the discharges from the stomach and bowels of those sick with cholera. 
Thorough cooking destroys the cholera germs : therefore — 

Don’t eat raw, uncooked articles of any kind, not even milk. 

“ Don’t eat or drink to excess. Use plain, wholesome, digestible food, as 
indigestion and diarrhoea favor an attack of cholera. 

Don’t drink unboiled water. 

“ Don’t eat or drink articles unless they have been thoroughly and recently 
cooked or boiled, and the more recent and hotter they are the safer. 

“ Don’t employ utensils in eating or drinking unless they have been 
recently put in boiling water ; the more recent the safer. 

‘‘Don’t eat or handle food or drink with unwashed hands, or receive it 
from the unwashed hands of others. 

“ Don’t use the hands for any purpose when soiled with cholera discharges ; 
thoroughly cleanse them at once. 

“Personal cleanliness, and cleanliness of the living- and sleeping-rooms 
and their contents, and thorough ventilation, should be rigidly enforced. Foul 
water-closets, sinks, Croton faucets, cellars, etc., should be avoided, and when 
present should be referred to the Health Board at once, and remedied. 

“ The successful treatment and the prevention of the spread of this disease 
demand that its earliest manifestations be promptly recognized and treated: 
therefore — 

“ Don’t doctor yourself for bowel complaint, but go to bed and send for 
the nearest physician at once. Send for your family physician ; send to a 
dispensary or hospital ; send to the Health Department ; send to the nearest 
police-station for medical aid. 

‘ Don’t wait, but send at once. If taken ill in the street, seek the nearest 
drug-store, dispensary, hospital, or police-station, and demand prompt medical 
attention. 

“ Don’t permit vomit or diarrhoeal discharges to come in contact with food, 
drink, or clothing. These discharges should be received in proper vessels and 
kept covered until removed under competent directions. Pour boiling water 
on them, put a strong solution of carbolic acid on them (not less than one part 
of acid to twenty of hot soapsuds or water). 

“ Don’t wear, handle, or use any articles of clothing or furniture that 
are soiled with cholera discharges. Pour boiling water on them or put them 
into it, and scrub them with the carbolic acid solution mentioned above, and 
promptly request the Health Board to remove them. 

“ Don’t be frightened, but do be cautious, and avoid excesses and unneces- 
sary exposures of every kind.” 


ion. 


Tramp [to Cholly CAeever).— What’s the distance to Fiftieth Street? 
Cholly. — Two miles, I think. 

Tramp {^admiHngly),—Km you think as fur as that?— Field's Washing- 


CURRENT NOTES. 


703 


DRINK 


THE CLEAREST! 


THE PUREST! 


THE BEST! 


TIVOLI 


EXPORT 


BEER! 


The purest unadulterated Beer made. Send postal for sample 
case to your bottler, or 



POTH BREWING CO., 


ThiPty-first and Jefferson Streets, Philadelphia. 


Do you not wish to save money, clothes, time, labor, fuel, and health, if 
possible? All these can be saved by the use of Dobbins^ Electric Soap. Try 
it once. We say this, knowing that if you try it once, you will always use it. 
Is it economy to save one, two, or three cents on the price of a bar of soap, and 
lose five dollars or more in ruined, tender, rotted clothing spoiled by the strong 
soda in the poor soap? Washing-powders, concentrated lye, and cheap soaps 
are low-priced, to be sure, but they are terribly expensive, taking ruined clothing 
into account. 

Remember, Dobbins’ Electric Soap preserves clothes washed with it ; bleaches 
white ones, brightens colored ones ; softens flannels and blankets, and contains 
nothing to injure the most delicate fabric. Ask your grocer for it. Take nothing 
else in its place. Read carefully all that is said on the two wrappers, and see that 
our name is on each. 


I. L. Cragin & Co., 


Philadelphia, Pa. 


704 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Mr. Hall Caine has been spending some time in Berlin, and has managed 
to see a good deal of literary life in the German capital. The result of his 
observations is rather surprising, and not particularly flattering to Englishmen. 
The Germans do not appear to be great readers of English literature. Of 
English Action they know little, and that little does not impress them favorably. 
Writing to a friend in London, Mr. Caine says, The German view of English 
Action is, on the whole, not a good one; but I find here and there a disposition 
to pay more attention to the younger English novelists than to those of an 
earlier period. But very little seems to be known of any of them. I have met 
only one man who has read Mr. Stevenson, and only one or two who have even 
heard of Mr. Kipling. I sang Mr. Barrie’s praises amid silence, and no one 
was aware of Mr. Blackmore, or yet Mr. Besant. Such and so loud is the tur- 
bulent voice of Fame, twenty-four hours only from London, amid a people who 
are our first-cousins and have interests in common with our own. A lady told 
me she was translating Mr. Swinburne; but she knew nothing of Eossetti, 
except his name. The novelist here is, with one or two notable exceptions, not 
a person of much mark.’’ — Publishers^ Circular. 

A PHILOSOPHY of living must of necessity be the most vital philosophy,” 
says Walter Blackburn Harte in the New England Magazine; “ and indeed it is 
entirely owing to some strange tradition of ignorance that philosophy is usually 
supposed to belong exclusively to the curriculum of a university, and to have 
no utility in every-day life. It was, in a degree, the first business of the modern 
novel, as we had it from Eichardson, to end this divorce of life and philosophy 
by a compromise, which should unite instruction in an intelligible form with 
entertainment. There have, unfortunately, been multitudes of novels since 
which were made primarily for entertainment; and so the novel declined to 
the intelligence of the nursery, and a tradition has consequently grown around 
the custom of putting baby-talk into this form, until now many critics resent 
any departure from nursery standards. But it is only in so far as the novel em- 
bodies some truth successfully that it is useful,— possibly great. There are no 
greater mysteries than the instincts and affections of mankind, the relations of 
the spiritual and the material, life and death, and their antithesis and analogy; 
and until the novelists have exhausted the field, which all the systems of moral 
philosophy and science have failed to exhaust, there is no pressing urgency for 
them to seek to conjure up a new world, whose mysteries can only be transparent 
and commonplace in comparison.” 

Not to be Misunderstood. — Mamma {to the Professor^ whose ears have been 
lacerated for an Aowr).— Don’t you think the dear child should have her voice 
cultivated ? 

The Professor [grimly). — Yes, if she must sing. 

Eowan Stevens, in KateFiekVs Washington. 

A Gastronomic A L Criticism.— Here’s a pointer for ye. Bill,” said a 
tramp to one of his companions. “Don’t never go to that house on the hill 
yonder.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ ’Cause whenever they’ve got pie they haven’t any cheese, and when 
they’ve got cheese they haven’t any pie. I wouldn’t eat at no such place as 
that.” — Nashville Mirror. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


705 




ESTABLISHED 1358. 


Dansville, Livingston Co., 
NEW YORK. 

A delightful home for those 
seeking health, rest, or recreation. 
Under the personal care of ex- 
, perienced physicians. 

Elegant modern fire-proof main building and twelve cottages, complete in all appliances for 
health and comfort. Extensive apartments lor treatment arranged for individual privacv. 
Skilled attendants. All forms of baths; Electricity, Massage, Swedish Movements, etc. Delsarte 
System of Physical Culture. Frequent Lectures and Lessons on Health Topics. 

Especial provision for rest and quiet, also for recreation, amusement, and regular out-door life. 

Hillside location in Woodland Park, overlooking extended views of the famous Genesee Val- 
ley region, unsurpassed for beauty. Charming walks and drives. Lakes, glens, and waterfalls 
m immediate vicinity. Clear, dry atmosphere, free from fogs and malaria. Pure spring water 
from rocky heights. Perfect drainage and sewerage. 

Electric bells, safety elevator, telegraph, long-distance telephone, etc. 

For illustrated pamphlet, testimonials, and other information, address 


JT, JA-OKSOIV, Secretary, 


Mention this Magazine. 


DANSVII.L.E, NEW YORK. 



Italy 

Germany 

Belgium 

brought to your fireside in the 
Philadelphia and Boston Face= 
brick. Every mould authentic. 
Will harmonize with any inte= 
rior finish. Are you interested? 
Send ten two=cent stamps for 
our sketch=book. 

Philadelphia and Boston Face-Brick Co., 
4 Liberty Square, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 
Price in Red Face-Bricks, including hearth, fire back, and 
under fire, $32 00 ; price in Cream Bricks, $48.00. 


Sickness among children, especially infants, is prevalent more or less at all 
times, but is largely avoided by giving proper nourishment and wholesome food. 
The most successful and reliable of all is the Gail Borden Eagle” Brand Con- 
densed Milk. Your grocer and druggist keep it. 

Yol. L. — 46 



706 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Consumption Cured. — An old physician, retired from practice, had 
placed in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple 
vegetable remedy for the speedy and permanent cure of Consumption, Bron- 
chitis, Catarrh, Asthma, and all Throat and Lung Affections, also a positive and 
radical cure for Nervous Debility and all Nervous Complaints. Having tested 
its wonderful curative powers in thousands of cases, and desiring to relieve 
human suffering, I will send, free of charge, to all who wish it, this recipe in 
German, French, or English, with full directions for preparing and using. Sent 
by mail, by addressing, with stamp, naming this magazine, W. A. Noyes, 820 
Powers^ Block, Rochester, N. Y. 

Arthur Conan Doyle, the British author, has given up practice as an 
oculist for novel-writing. Mr. Doyle is just thirty-three, and is a native of Ed- 
inburgh, where he studied medicine. He found his early career as a physician 
one of drudgery, and with the object of increasing his funds he wrote some 
short stories, which found their way into Chambers's Journal and laid the foun- 
dation of his literary success. Part of his youth has been passed as doctor on 
a whaler bound for the Arctic regions, and part as surgeon on a ship plying be- 
tween England and the west coast of Africa. Physically he is a big, broad- 
shouldered man, with the frame and moustache of a Life-Guardsman . — The 
Argonaut. 

FOUND. 

We found each other in those darkest days 
Which, some say, come but just before the dawn. 

I know not how, save that our feet were drawn, 

Without volition, into mingling ways. 

Hearts have no ears to hear, they can but feel ; 

The stranger stands outside, and knocks, and knocks ; 

There comes no answer to the noisy shocks 
Save the re-echoes of his vain appeal. 

But draws the Only One the portal near: 

Though fall his footsteps as rose-petals blown. 

Trembling, it hastes to open to its own. 

And this is how we found each other, dear ! 

Eve H. Brodlique, in Good Form. 

r 

St Louis through a Camera'' is a neat oblong quarto, put forth under 
the auspices of the Bureau of Information of the Autumnal Festivities Associa- 
tion to set forth the glories of “ the greatest city on the greatest river in the 
world," with special reference to this autumn's fair and carnival. The text is 
furnished by Mr. James Cox, and the illustrations are elaborate and plentiful. 

Beginning in a modest way at Lenox, Massachusetts, in 1875, the Agassiz 
Association has established local branches or chapters almost everywhere, and 
done much to foster and extend the study of the natural sciences. Its head- 
quarters are at Pittsfield, Massachusetts, and its founder, Mr. H. H. Ballard, is 
still its active president. Its constitution and history are set forth in a hand- 
book entitled Three Kingdoms." 


CURRENT NOTES. 


707 



The Only One 

that’s imitated, among all washing compounds, is 
Pearline. That is because it is the original, the 
most popular, and the best. 

Peddlers and some grocers will tell you 
that this thing or that thing is “the same 
as” or “as good as” Pearline — what better 
recommendation do you want for Pearl- 
ine ? They tell you this because it pays 
them better to sell these “ same as” 
a stuffs. But how will it pay you to 
^ use them ? 

Any saving that 
offer you, in prizes 
can be only nominal. 

The loss in ruined linens, flan 
nels, muslins, etc., can be large. 


they can 
or prices. 


1 Peddlers and some unscrupulous grocers 
will tell you “ this is as good as ” or “ the 
^ ^ same as"^ Pearline. IT’S FALSE— 

Pearline is never peddled, and if your grocer 
sends you something in place of Pearline, 
be honest — send it back. J, PYLE, N.Y. 


Back 


The greatest offer ever made 
by a reliable house. 

Dr. Judd’s Electric Belts and 
Trusses on dx months* trial. Far 
superior to any Galvanic or Box 
Battery made. The greatest Elec- 
trical Medical discovery of the 
nineteenth century. 

For male and female. 

If you wish Health, address 
Detroit, Michigan. 



Dr. C. B. Judd, 74 West Congress Street, 


\ 



Testimony . — Within the last eighteen months we have taken in something 
over one thousand dollars for Judd’s Electric Belts and Trusses, and thus far 
have never had a complaint from a customer, but have had many compliments 
passed upon them. D. M. Newbro Drug Co. 

Butte City, Mont., Jan. 16. 1892. 



708 


CURRENT NOTES. 


THE GOOD TIME COMING. 

He was always humming 
Such a hopeful lay : 

“ There^s a good time coming,” 

But ’twas far aw’ay. 

And in toil and trouble 
And in joy and woe, 

That good time coming” 

Made the bad times go. 

And he sang and suffered, 

Till at last, one night, 

The good time coming” 

Seemed to loom in sight. 

But his lips were songless. 

And his heart w\as lead : 

The ‘^good time coming” 

Found the toiler — dead ! 

The Weekly Journalist. 

Needed Shingling. — The old practice of badgering witnesses has almost 
disappeared from many courts; but in a Western Kansas town it is still kept 

up, — sometimes, however, to the damage of the cross-examiner. Lawyer S 

is well known for his uncomely habits. He cuts his hair about four times a 
year, and the rest of the time looks decidedly ragged about the ears. He was 
making a witness describe a barn, which figured in his last case. “ How long 
had this barn been built?” Oh, I donT know. About a year, mebby. About 
nine months, p^Faps.” “But just how long? Tell the jury how long it had 
been built.” “Well, I donT know exactly. Quite a while.” “Now, Mr. 

B , you pass for an intelligent farmer, and yet you canT tell how old this 

barn is ; and you have lived on the next farm for ten years. Can you tell how 
old your own house is? Come, now, tell us how old your own house is, if you 
think you know.” Quick as lightning the old farmer replied, “Ye want to 
know how old my house is, do ye? Well, it^s just about as old as you be, and 
needs shinglin’ about as bad !” In the roar that followed the witness stepped 
down, and was not called back. — The Argonaut. 

Bulwer’s Opinion. — One day, when calling at a beautiful villa on the 
Thames, the author of “ Pelham” found its mistress on the sofa, deeply engaged 
in a book. 

“ What have you got there that interests you so much?” said Bulwer. 

“ The School for Husbands,” she answered. 

“ You don’t mean to say,” he replied, “ that you consider life long enough 
to waste it on such unmitigated trash !” 

“Oh, but I assure you, Sir Edward, I consider it very clever, very smart 
and witty. You should look at it again, and you would discover that you have 
quite misappreciated it.” 

“No, thank you; I have neither read, nor do I intend to read, that 
wretched book ; and you may rely upon it, if you have found any sense within 
the covers, those pages are not by the soi-disant author.” 

The “author” in question was Lady Bulwer .— of the Century. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


709 


Note. — This letter has a date. 


Marion Harland endorses and uses 


Cleveland’s Saking Powden 

February 5, 1892. 

After long and careful trial of others, I prefer , 
Cleveland’s Baking Powder for several reasons. . . 

Cleveland’s is a pure cream of tartar and soda 
mixture, not containing alum or ammonia or any other 
substance deleterious to the human stomach. 

Cakes, muffins, biscuits, &c., in which Cleveland’s 
Baking Powder is used, keep better. 

A like quantity of Cleveland’s Baking Powder . 
goes further and does better work than any other of 
which I have knowledge. It is therefore cheaper. 


POMPTON, N. J. 





LAROCHE’S INVSGGRATING TONIC. 


GRAND NATIONAL PRIZE OF 16,600 FRANCS. 


CONTAINING 

Peruvian Bark, Iron 

AND 

Pore Catalan Wine. 

An experience of 25 years in experimental 
analysis, together with the valuable aid extend- 
ed by the Academy of Medicine in Paris, has 
enabled M. Laroche to extract the entire active 
properties of Peruvian Bark(a result not before 
attained), and to concentrate them in an elixir, 
which possessed in the highest degree its restor- 
ative and invigorating qualities, free from the 
disagreeable bitterness of ordinary prepara- 
tions. 

This invigorating tonic is powerful in its 
effect, is easily administered, assimilates 
thoroughly and quickly with the gastric Juices, 
without deranging the action of the stomach. 

Iron and Cinchona are the most powerful 
weapons employed in the art of curing; Iron is 
the principle of our blood, and forms its force 
and richness. Cinchona affords life to the 
organs and activity to their fimctions. 



Endorsed by the Medical Fac- 
ulty of Paris, and used with en- 
tire success for the cure of 

MALARIA, 

INDIGESTION, 
FEVER and AGUE. 
NEURALGIA, 

LOSS of APPETITE, 
POORNESS of BLOOD, 

WASTING DISEASES, 
and 

RETARDED 

CONVALESCENCE. 


E. FOUGERA & GO., Agents, No. 30 North William street, New York. 22 rue Drouot, Paris. 



710 


CURRENT NOTES. 


How TO Fumigate a Eoom.— T he proper way to fumigate a room, says the 
Journal of Health, is to close the doors, windows, fireplace, etc., and paste strips 
of paper over all the cracks. Fumigation by burning sulphur is most easily 
accomplished. 

Two pounds of sulphur should be allowed for every room from ten to twelve 
feet square. 

It is better to divide it up and put it in several pans, rather than burn the 
entire quantity of sulphur used in one pan. To avoid the danger of fire, these 
pans should be set on bricks, or in other and larger pans filled with water or 
with sand. 

After pouring a little alcohol on the sulphur, and properly placing the pans 
about the room, the farthest from the door of exit should be lighted first, the 
others in order. ’ 

The operator will need to move quickly, for no one can breathe sulphurous 
fumes with safety. 

After closing the door, the cracks around it should be pasted up, as was 
done within the room. 

Six hours, at least, are generally necessary to fumigate a room properly ; at 
the end of that time it may be entered and the windows opened, and they should 
be left open as long as is convenient, even for a week, if possible. 

After fumigation, a thorough process of cleansing should be instituted. At 
least, the walls and ceiling should be rubbed dry. Much the better way is to 
whitewash and re-paper. 

The floor and the wood-work and the furniture should be scrubbed with a 
solution of carbolic acid, or some other disinfectant. 

Early RlsiNG.--An English author, Leigh Hunt, I think, was, like many 
men w^ho are neither English nor authors, very fond of lying in bed in the 
morning, and the temptation to indulge this habit was doubly great when the 
mornings were so cold that he could see his breath rising from his nostrils like 
jets of steam. 

The adage about the early bird catching the worm was well refuted by the 
boy who said, Huh I it served the worm right for getting up so early.’’ 

But Hunt’s story of his effort to cultivate physical energy, as nearly as I 
can recall it, was very funny, and those who are inclined the same way them- 
selves will be best able to appreciate it. He says, — 

I determined to conquer the habit of lying in bed in the morning, and 
entered into a conspiracy with my valet against myself.”— 7%e Weekly Journalist 

A Good-Natured Nobleman.— The Earl of Balcarres had a field of 
turnips upon which he prided himself a good deal. He once surprised an old 
woman busily employed in filling a sack with his favorites. After giving her a 
hearty scolding, to which she replied only by the silent eloquence of repeated 
courtesies, he was walking away, when the woman called after him, Eh, my 
lord, the bag’s unco heavy. Would ye be sae kind as to help me on to my back 
wi’ it?”— which he did forthwith, when the culprit decamped with profuse 
thanks. 

About Universal Enfranchisement.—'' Women, in demanding their 
righiSi may lose their says Jean Ingelow. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


711 


“ A Lifers 
Experience.” 
Lydia Pinkham 
to Mrs, Chas, 
H. Pinkham, 
My daughter, 
you have spent 
many years of 
your life in aid- 
ing me to com- 
pile these records. An analysis 
of every case of female disease 
ever brought to my attention is 
here; this will aid you in per- 
petuating my work. Here is a 
life’s practice of a Woman among 
Women, and contains Fapts that cannot be found elsewhere. It is the largest 
collection the world has ever known.” 

Note. — These Records are available to the Women of the world. Personal 
attention is given to confidential letters, and correspondence is solicited from 
suffering women. Send stamp for “ Guide to Health and Etiquette.” 

Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound is the only Positive Cure and 
Legitimate Remedy for the peculiar weaknesses and ailments of women, and 
for Kidney Complaints of either sex the Compound has no rival. All Drug- 
gists sell it as a standard article, or sent by mail, in form of Pills or Lozenges, 
on receipt of $L00. Lydia E. Pinkham Med. Co., Lynn, Mass. 



Genuine Guyots. — Mr. A. J. Ostheimer has just returned from Paris, 
where he has spent some weeks in arranging the details for the Guyot exhibit 
for the World’s Fair at Chicago in 1893. A most elaborate display will be 
made, and many new and striking novelties will be exhibited. The demand 
for the genuine Guyot suspenders is so large at the present moment that 
Ostheimer Brothers have already booked orders as far ahead as July, 1893, and it 
has been absolutely necessary to again increase the capacity of the already very 
large Guyot factories. Almost one thousand hands are now busily engaged at 
the Guyot works in making the webbing and manufacturing the suspenders, 
and the United States is the largest customer the Guyot factory has. The 
genuine Guyot suspenders have great merits as regards health, comfort, and 
durability, and hence have the steadfast favor of consumers. Every article 
which is very successful is quickly imitated, and there are many poor imitations 
of the genuine Guyot in the market. The genuine gives pleasure, comfort, and 
satisfaction to the wearer. 

Messrs. Porter & Coates, the Philadelphia publishers, have issued a 
volume by Dr. Bushrod W. James, the well-known physician of that city, 
entitled “ Alaskana,” the subject-matter being the legends of Alaska. The 
book is written in blank verse in the style of Longfellow’s “ Hiawatha,” and is 
handsomely printed and profusely illustrated with views of that picturesque but 
little-known land. Dr. James is favorably known as a prolific writer on pro- 
fessional subjects, and also as a most entertaining describer of places he has 
visited both in this country and abroad. 


712 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Must do Something. — One of the finest distinctions possible was once 
drawn by an estimable woman, who belonged to the army of restlessly busy 
American housewives, whose god is their work. She begrudged sadly the time 
spent in enforced idleness on Sunday. Her conscience did not permit her usual 
round of work, yet her hands refused to lie contentedly in her lap. “ I never 
sew on Sunday,’’ she said, and sighed ; “ never, of course. But I admit” — she 
lowered her voice — “ I sometimes lock myself up in my own room and baste a 
little.” 

An Unfortunate Remark. — Bagiev. — How’s that pretty little widow in 
Harlem that you’ve been raving about lately ? 

Bailey. — Oh, she’s married. 

Bagley. — You don’t seem to have good luck in your matrimonial ventures, 
do you, Bailey ? ^ 

Bailey. — Oh, I don’t know. You see, I’m the one she married . — Nashville 
Mirror. 

A Unique Institution is about to be established in Weimar. It is neither 
university nor academy, nor yet, strictly speaking, a library, but it is, neverthe- 
less, an intellectual workshop of great importance to writers and scholars the 
world over. It is an enlargement of the scope of the well-known Goethe-Schiller 
Archives, out of which it has developed naturally and organically. In 1888 
Baron von Gleichen-Russwurm, the grandson of Schiller, and one of the fore- 
most landscape painters of Germany, made over to the Goethe Archives all the 
papers of his celebrated grandfather, and the Archives thereupon took the double 
name of the poet pair. The papers of Herder and Wieland having already 
been deposited there, it was an easy step to the idea of a universal German 
archive; this idea has now taken definite and practical form. The new insti- 
tution is to serve a twofold purpose : it is primarily a place of safe deposit for 
the literary remains and manuscript treasures of all the great writers of Ger- 
many, in whatever field of intellectual activity they may have labored, and it 
will furthermore afford unrivalled facilities to investigators, scholars, editors, 
and critics who wish to have access to the original sources and to study their 
authors at first hand. The Archives will continue under the supervision of the 
scholarly Professor Suphan, and the present name, which will lose none of its 
appropriateness under the new conditions, will probably be retained. The suc- 
cess of this enterprise is now assured, and a special building for the purpose is 
to be erected at the expense of the grand duchess herself . — The Nation. 

EVERNESS. 

What of the land, and what of the sea. 

And what of the sky bending over? 

What is the message they’re bringing to thee 
In language of cloud, wave, and clover? 

The cloud melts and scatters, and lost in the sea 
Is the wave in its mighty endeavor; 

The sweets of the clover belong to the bee. 

But sea, land, and sky are forever. 

William S. Lord, in Good Form. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


713 



Larger Quantity, 
iflETTER Quality, 
Only 26 Cents. 


No 

Worpao 

would pay 12 cents a pound, for Pow- 
dered Soap when che could buy it in 
bars for 6 cents, though every woman 
knows that Powdered soap is handier 
and better than soap in bars or cakes. 
But when a woman can buy Powdered 
soap for the SAME PRICE as bar sc::p, 
of course she takes the Powdered soap 
for it does her work and the other 
^ is no work at all. 


Gold 


Dust 


WASHING 

POWDER 


IS POWDERED SOAP AT BAR SOAP PRICES. It is sold by every 
enterprising grocer in wholesale packages (4 lbs.) for 25 CENTS. 

N. K. FAIRBANK & CO., Sole flanufacturers, 

CHICAGO, ST. LOUIS, NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA, BOSTON, 
BALTIMORE, NEW ORLEANS, SAN FRANCISCO, 

PORTLAND, ME., PORTLAND, ORE,, PITTSBURGH AND MILWAUKEE. 


Bird-Manna ! — The great secret of the canary-breeders 
of the Hartz Mountains, Germany. Bird-Manna will restore 
the song of cage-birds, will prevent their ailments, and restore 
them to good condition. If given during the season of shedding 
feathers it will, in most cases, carry the little musician through 
this critical period without loss of song. Sent by mail on re- 
ceipt of 15 cents in stamps. Sold by Druggists. Directions free. 
Bird Food Company, 400 North Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



California. — California is the most attractive and delightful section of 
the United States, if not of the world, and its many beautiful resorts will be 
crowded with the best families of the East during the entire winter. It offers 
to the investor the best open opportunity for safe and large returns from its fruit- 
lands. It offers the kindest climate in the world to the feeble and debilitated ; 
and it is reached in the most comfortable manner over the Atchison, Topeka & 
Santa Fe Railroad. Pullman Vestibule Sleeping-Cars leave Chicago by this 
line every day in the year, and go, without change or transfer, through to San 
Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego. This is a feature not offered by any 
other line. 

Write to John J. Byrne, 621 Rialto Building, Chicago, 111., if you desire any 
further information as to the country and the accommodations for reaching it. 


714 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Mimicry in Moths. — ‘‘ Kound about my house is a tangled shrubbery of 
stunted brushwood, with here and there a silver birch, young beech, and Scotch 
fir, and in one corner stands an old outhouse, where a pipe is good at all seasons,’’ 
says a writer in the Nineteenth Century. ‘Mt is half in ruins, and while there one 
day I noticed that the dingy old brown and gray wall was spotted with oddly- 
shaped blotches of a darker tint that looked like damp. That same evening, 
however, I found that the blotches had all disappeared, though more rain had 
fallen and the roof was full of holes. The next day they had all come back. 
When this had happened a second time, I looked more closely at the strange 
marks, and, to my surprise, I found them to be living creatures, small moths, in 
fact, with folded or outspread wings, clinging fast on to the crumbling wall. 
From dusk until dawn they had been out on the wing in the fields and woods, — 
their chief enemies, the birds, being asleep,— but at daybreak came back to their 
old place of safety. The shrubbery was dangerous because the ground was 
thickly covered with green ivy and still greener periwinkle and moss, where 
sparrows, finches, and tits were always hunting for food, and they would have 
been soon snapped up. On the old weather-stained wall they were safe.” 

At the Art Gallery.— Doorman (to countryman). — ‘‘ You will have to 
leave your umbrella here.” 

“What for?” 

“ Because it doesn’t rain in the picture-gallery .”— 7ea;as Siftings. 

A PHOTOGRAPHER in the Tyrol made a negative of ten tourists against a 
background of pine woods. When he developed the plate, a faithful present- 
ment of a large bear in the act of making for the denser timber appeared in the 
edge of the forest. Neither the man with the camera nor any of those in the 
group had known that the brute was near. 

THE SILENT ONES. 

Under the grassy sod, 

Under the swaying willows, 

Down ’neath the buds and flowers, 

Sleeping away the hours. 

Far from the paths they trod. 

They lie on their clayey pillows. 

There at the dawn’s first peeping. 

There when the night comes weeping, 

The silent ones are sleeping. 

Under the drifting snow, 

Down ’neath the naked branches, 

Under the rain and sleet. 

Swift are the hours and fleet. 

Far from the cares we know. 

Safe from grief’s avalanches. 

There at the dawn’s first peeping. 

There when the night comes weeping. 

The silent ones are sleeping. 

Kichard Henry Buck, in Philadelphia Ledger, 


CURRENT NOTES. 


715 



Sounds focussed by Ships’ Sails. — The wide-spread sails of a ship, 
when rendered concave by a gentle breeze, are excellent conductors of sound. 
The celebrated Dr. Arnott relates the following circumstance as a practical 
proof of this assertion. A ship was once sailing along the coast of Brazil, far 
out of sight of land. Suddenly several of the crew, while walking along the 
deck, noticed that when passing and repassing a particular spot they always 
heard with great distinctness the sound of bells chiming sweet music, as though 
being rung but a short distance away. Dumfounded by this phenomenon, they 
quickly communicated the discovery to their mates, but none of them was able 
to solve the enigma as to the origin of these seemingly mysterious sounds. 
Several months afterwards, upon returning to Brazil, some of the listeners de- 
termined to satisfy their curiosity. Accordingly, they mentioned the circum- 
stance to their friends, and were informed that at the time when the sounds were 
heard, the bells in the cathedral of San Salvador, on the coast, had been ringing 
to celebrate a feast held in honor of one of the saints. Their sound, wonderful 
to relate, favored by a gentle, steady breeze, had travelled a distance of upward 
of one hundred miles over the smooth water, and had been brought to a focus by 
the sails at the particular locality in which the sweet sounds were first heard. 
This is but one of several instances of a similar kind, trustworthy authorities 
claiming that it has often happened under somewhat similar circumstances. 


716 


CURRENT NOTES. 


THE CITY OF CONVENTIONS. 

No city has such a reputation for 
the successful holding of conventions 
of every character as St. Louis, which 
is known as the ‘‘City of Conven- 
tions,” because of the immense num- 
ber of gatherings, political, commer- 
cial, social, and religious, which are 
held in its midst every year. There 
are few organizations of national im- 
portance which have not met at least 
once in St. Louis, and as a result of 
the hospitable treatment accorded to 
delegates and visitors, many bodies 
have met repeatedly in the great 
metropolis of the West and South- 
west. It is unnecessary to detail at 
length each of the conventions which 
has met at St. Louis during the last 
quarter of a century, and indeed the 
record for a single year would fill several pages; but it will be interesting to 
note a few of the most important and most successful gatherings. In 1867 a 
convention was held in the interests of the improvement of the Mississippi 
Kiver, and at this the foundation-stone was laid for the great work which has 
since been accomplished in and for the “Father of Waters.” 

During the seventies a National Commercial and a National Eailroad 
Convention were held in St. Louis, and at each of these work was outlined 
which has proved of immense value to the commercial interests of the country. 
Also during the seventies, in 1876, the National Democratic Convention was held 
in St. Louis, and resulted in the nomination of Tilden for the Presidency. The 
convention was held in the Merchants' Exchange hall, one of the finest of its 
character in the world, both on account of its vastness and also of the beauty 
of its decorations. The hall is two hundred and twenty-one feet long, one 
hundred feet wide, and eighty feet high. 

In 1888 Cleveland was nominated in St. Louis. The second National 
Democratic Convention in the great commercial metropolis was held in the Ex- 
position Building, in which the only successful annual exposition in the world 
is held every September and October. The Exposition Building covers an area 
of over six acres, and its Grand Music Hall contains three thousand five hundred 
and seven numbered seats, with facilities for accommodating nearly as many more 
people on an emergency. This latter convention was held in what may be 
termed the centre of the banner period of St. Louis as a convention city, for 
between 1886 and 1890 the number of conventions held in the city was re- 
markable. In 1885 came one of the largest cattle conventions ever held, fol- 
lowed in 1886 by enormous gatherings of the physicians, photographers, and 



“THE GRANT STATUE AT ST. LOUIS WITH FLAGS 
OF SPAIN AND THE UNITED STATES.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


717 


butchers of America. These professional and trade conventions attracted great 
crowds to the city, and were universally voted as an unalloyed success both in 
the amount of business transacted and also in the magnificent hospitality ex- 
tended to the delegates by the citizens. 

The Knights Templar Triennial Conclave was held in the fall of the same 
year, and the city was illuminated and decorated to an extent which evoked 
loud and continued expressions of approval and astonishment from the Masonic 
guests, and in 1887, on the occasion of the Grand Army reunion being held in 
St. Louis, the attendance and the hospitality were even more remarkable. In 
the following year came the Democratic National Convention already referred 
to, and since that date the city has more than maintained its well-earned repu- 
tation for successful conventions. Last year one of the greatest gatherings of 
Odd-Fellows ever held in the United States took place in St. Louis, and the 
Sovereign Grand Lodge was welcomed and entertained by the thousands of 
Odd-Fellows in the city and by St. Louisans generally, who are always on the 
lookout to entertain strangers, especially during the forty days which form the 
annual carnival period in the great City of Conventions. This spring the 
People^s Party held its conference in the Exposition Building, and a little later 
the Nicaragua Canal Convention was held in the same hall. Next year the 
National Furniture Convention, the National Electrical Convention, and the 
German Veterans^ Keunion are among the many conventions of this character 
already docketed for St. Louis, and it is probable that there will be at least 
ten conventions of the highest national importance' held in the city during the 
summer and fall. 

It is not difficult to find reasons for the popularity of St. Louis as a con- 
vention city. It is by far the best railroad centre in the United States, while 
within a radius of five hundred miles is a larger population than can be found 
within a similar radius of any other city in America. This is a fact which can 
be easily verified by aid of map and census, and it gives St. Louis an accessi- 
bility both i'n regard to time and expense which makes its selection for conven- 
tion purposes natural and appropriate. The city can be reached from all points 
of the compass by direct routes, and, owing to the enormous passenger travel, 
exceptionally good rates are always made by the railroads. 

But it is the lavish hospitality of St. Louis which accounts even in larger 
measure for the anxiety of delegates to select it for the holding of conventions 
and gatherings of every character. No other city in the world ever attempted 
to raise a million dollars for carnival and kindred purposes, and the fact that 
the Autumnal Festivities Association has already collected six hundred thou- 
sand dollars towards the million-dollar fund St. Louis is raising is evidence of 
the fact that the hospitality of St. Louis is of a distinctly practical and gen- 
erous nature. Just now six miles of its streets are illuminated by upwards of 
seventy-five thousand electric- and gas-lights in globes of many colors, pre- 
senting an effect dazzling and magnificent to a degree. The illuminations, 
which will be rej^eated on October 20, and probably on October 27, are not only 
the grandest ever attempted in any city in the world, but they also embrace a 
series of electrical panoramas of the most remarkable character, including a 
number of pyrotechnic effects by aid of the latest discovery of illuminating 
power, such as have never before been attempted, much less achieved. 


718 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Hard to Pronounce. — “ George !” she screamed ; “ my neck !” “ What’s 

the matter?” “ There’s a pillacatter ” “A what?” “ A tappekiller ” 

“ What in the world do you mean ?” “ Oh, dear,” she moaned, as she clutched 

him frantically; “a kitterpaller ! You know, George! A patterkiller 1” 
“ Oh 1” said George, with evident relief, and he proceeded to brush the future 
butterfly away. — Zt/e, 

An intellectual amusement, recently devised in Boston, states the New 
York IHdune, consists in writing a capital D on a sheet of paper while standing 
at a table and trying to make the right foot swing in the opposite direction 
from that which the pencil is following on the paper. No one, so flir as heard 
from, has been able to perform the feat. You get your foot swinging nicely in 
the opposite direction from that in which you know you are going to make the 
big loop of the D, and firmly resolve that you will keep it going the same way 
while you are writing, but as soon as you get started on the letter, will you nill 
you, your foot turns and goes the other way. 

A Search for Dove-Cots. — ‘‘ The hedges were still bare, though carrying 
promise of awakening life, when this search began,” writes Alfred Watkins in 
the English Illustrated Magazine ; ‘‘and there were yet pigeon-houses un visited. 

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 

Every one in eastern Herefordshire knows how, looking towards the west, a 
couple of conical wooded knolls break the line of horizon, and connect together 
groups of hills. These hillocks, which lie about a mile apart, are called Robin 
Hood's Butts, the tradition being that the famous outlaw was wont to shoot 
arrows from one to the other. It is in the wooded dip which links one of these 
butts with the adjacent Wormsley Hill, that the old farm-house of Buttas stands, 
massive and imposing yet, with its square-headed and stone-mullioned windows! 

“ And here, in 1632, George Karver, the yeoman owner of the estate, built 
for himself in the pride of his heart a combined pigeon-house and falconry, 
evidently intended to outvie all previous ones. 

“ And there it stands now, one of the most beautiful examples of carved and 
decorated timber-work in the district; its black diagonal timbers outlining the 
white plaster panels, each with a carved boss in the centre; the barge-boards 
and corbels elaborately carved in oak, and the little projecting window where 
the falcons were wont to bask in the sun, supported by a lion-headed truss. 

“ It was no local carpenter who carved here; one would rather think that the 
artificer who gave full play to his imagination and skill in the beautiful gate- 
house at Stokesay Castle was called to the work, so similar in style are the two 
buildings. 

“ Many pigeon-houses were divided into two stories, the lower one being used 
for general purposes, and in some instances arched over for use as an ice-house • 
but here at Buttas the doves were assigned the top loft only, among the gables! 
the falcons having their mews in the centre chamber, and the ground-floor with 
two large doors was used for general stores, probably not as at present for carts 
wheels having hardly come into general use at that time. 

“How closely linked are these buildings to the domestic life of that a^e! 
Honest George Karver added his wife's initial to his own, all carved in raised 
letters on a shield, with the device of a heart beneath.” 




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I CDe Mv^t 23oolt on t|)e Subject - 

AMERICAN ILLUSTRATORS 

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Edition de Luxe, Limited to looo Numbered Copies. 

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Acadeuiic and professional courses. Instruction in 
BOOK-KKKPING, BANKING, Insurance, 
Commission, Real Kstate, &c. ; STENOG- 
RAPHY and TYFEWKITJNG, Telegraphy, 
&c. ; Commercial Law and History, Civics, 
Political Economy, Ac.: AKITHMKTIC, BCSI - 
NJESS WRITING, kfpellwg,, Ihawing, Geo^aphy^ Cor- 
respondence^ Grammar^ Modem Languages, ac. I’ernis 
reasonable. Situations furnished c< mpetent students 
without charge. Business houses promptly supplied with 
well-trained clerks. The School is not a uni versity. Noi 
is it a gymnasium. It is a thorough academy. It is a 
live AMERICAN business school, affording to both 
sexes complete preparation for a successful start in life. 

Address, for circulars, 

CLEMENT C. GAIJ^ES, A.B., B.L., Principal, 

2085 Seventh Ave. 



Christmas Selections and a Res^nsive Service. Best 

composers of Sunday School music represented. i 6 pp. Price, 
6 Cents Postpaid. 

The New Born King, 

C.H. Gabriel. PrioeSCts.. Postpaid. Other Services, at 
the same orice, are, **Christmas Joy BelU,” ••Noel,” 
“Good Will to Men,” ••Peace on Earth,” •*The Christ 
of Bethlehem.” 

A Christmas Reverie, s^„”/^„dDiSo^u?‘b^w^L^ 

Mason, Price 10 Cents, Postpaid. 

The Wonderful Story, 2o''cen't‘’,li«p“Vd. 

Juvenile Cantatas: 

“A Jolly Christmas,” by C. H. Gabriel, (Just Issued). “One 
Christmas Eve,” “A Christmas Vision.” “Catching 
KrlssKrlnele.” “Santa ClausA- Co.,” “The New Santa 
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“The Waifs* Christmas.” Price, of each 30 Cents, 
Postpaid. 

“BETHLEHEM” a beautiful cantata for adults, by 
Weatherly and Root. Price, 50 Cents. 

MUSICAL VISITOR for December will contain app’-o- 
priate Christmas Anthems. 

Catalogue of all kinds of Christmas music furnished on ap- 
plication. 

PUBLISHED BY 

THE JOHN CHURCH CO., Cincinnati, 0. 

Root A Sons Music Co. | The John Church Co., 
aoo Wabash Ave., Chicago. | 13 E. i 6 th St., New York. 


Pop 30 Bays* Wishing to introduce our CRATOX PORTRAITS and at the same time 
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rarr 

^L_ work, and use youv influence* in securing us future orders. Place name and address on 
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“ ^ interfering with the likeness. Refer to any bank in Chicago. Address aU 

rnvu* fl'RVQOIT.'VT CRAYON CO. OuDoslte New German Theatre, CUICAGO, ILL. P. S. — We will fortelC 
Sow eeSSi® phX> a?a uGt S^yon picture f REK aa this offer. This offer ia buaafltto 

26 



The 


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PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF 

W. & R. Chambers, | f J. B. Lippincott Company, 

EDINBURGH, J ( PHILADELPHIA. 


COMPLETE IN TEN VOLUMES. 

NINE VOLUMES NOW READY. THE REMAINING VOLUME TO BE ISSUED IN 

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Price, per vol. : Cloth, f3.oo ; cloth, uncut, I3.00 ; sheep, ^4.00; half morocco, $4.50. 
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*** For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of the price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

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26 


books 

WIDL 
AWAKL 

IN 1893 will Present over TWELVE HUNDRED PAGES of Entertainment and Instruction Beautifully Illustrated 

FOUR GREAT SERIAL STORIES: 

GUERT TEN EYCK. By William O. Stoddard. A story for young Americans. 

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THE OCALA BOY. By Maurice Thompson. A story of Florida — with a mystery. 

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D. LOTHROP COMPANY, Publishers, BOSTON, MASS. 

THE LOTHROP MAGAZINES: 

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THE INDEPENDENT. 

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A year of 
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27 



^OW READY. 



A New Edition of the Celebrated Letters of the Earl 
of Chesterfield to His Son. 


An exact reprint of Lord Mahon’s edition, now very rare, issued in five 
octavo volumes, printed from pica type on superior paper. The edition is 
limited. 


Price, $12.^0, special 
cloth binding, gilt top. 


Frequent cheap editions of portions of these letters have appeared, 
but no complete and satisfactory work, suitable for the library, can be 
procured except at a very high price. This enterprise will accordingly 
place within reach of those who have long desired “Chesterfield’s Let- 
ters” an edition that is in every way the best ever issued. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 

- - - Publishers, - - - 

7/5 and 7/7 Market Street, Philadelphia, 
28 




Entirely New and Cheap Edition a a a a 


By Elizabeth IVetherell. 


Printed from new plates, and illustrated by eight full-page pictures and thirty 
engravings in the text from drawings by Frederick Dielman. i2nio. 
Cloth, attractively bound, |i.oo. Paper Edition. Thirty illustra- 
tions in text, 50 cents. 


“ A friend of our youth comes before us in a new dress in the shape of Ellen Montgomery', the 
gentle and pious heroine of Susan Warner’s ‘ The Wide, Wide World.’ How many girls have 
made up their minds to be good girls because Ellen was? How many youthful tears have been 
shed over the deaths of Mrs. Montgomery and Alice Humphreys? Where is the girl that has 
not fallen in love with that prig John ? The artist has made no attempt to modernize the person- 
ages, and has well preserved the characteristics of the period to which the story belongs.” — New 
York Critic. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by the Publishers, free 
of expense, on receipt of the price. 

% 

J. B. Lippincott Company, 

* ’ * ‘ yi ^ and' yty Market Street, Philadelphia. 


CUPPLEMENT TO ALLl- 
^ BONE’S DICTIONARY 
OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 
AND BRITISH AND AMERI- 
CAN AUTHORS. BY JOHN 
FOSTER KIRK. 


Two volumes. Imperial 8vo. Nearly 1600 pages. 

Cloth binding, $15.00; sheep, $17.00; half Rus- 
sia, $20.00 ; half calf or half morocco, $22.00. 

TESTIMONIALS. 

FROM THE LONDON SATURDAY REVIEW.— have no hesitation in declaring 
our conviction that it is by far the most satisfactory work of the kind with which we are 
acquainted. It is ample in its information ; it is accurate to a degree very rarely attained ; 
it is catholic as to the persons included ; and it is, with all this, eminently readable.” 

FROM THE NEW YORK INDEPENDENT— whole five volumes will make a 
work which no student or writer who has much to do with books or authors will willingly 
consent to be without. So far as any test but that of long and various use can decide, the 
work is done well. It has thus far sustained the test for comparatively obscure or little 
known books to which we have subjected it, while on subjects of known and general 
interest we find it full and accurate, — a sure and ready key to the personal or authorship 
side of the entire mass of British and American literature.” 

FROM THE NEW YORK NA TION. — “The work ought to be not only in every library, 
but in every school in which English literature is taught.” 

FROM THE PHIL A. PUBLIC LEDGER.— Kirk’s volumes contain not only the 
results of the years of painstaking labor directed to the task in hand, but also show the 
work of a life spent in literary studies, and that scholarship of the very highest order of 
excellence has been used in perfecting and completing a book that is now more than ever 
valuable to every one who needs a reference hand-book for the names and works and life 
of all who have contributed to the vast stores of English literature.” 



ALLIBONE’S 

DICTIONARY AND SUPPLEMENT. 


Complete in 
Five Volumes. 


THE ENTIRE WORK 

CONTAINING THE NAMES AND HISTORY 
OF. OVER 83,000 AUTHORS. 


Cloth . . . 1^37.50 
Sheep . . . 42.50 

Half Russia . 50.00 
Half calf . . 55.00 

Half morocco 55.00 


FROM THE BOSTON LITERARY WORLD.—'' It can hardly be doubted that Allibone’s 
Dictionary of English Eiterature and British and American Authors, taken as a whole, 
embracing as it does in its original three volumes the names of over 4^000 authors, and in 
its supplement those of 37,183 authors — with notices of their several hundred thousand 
books— will long remain without a rival as a bibliography of the literature of the English 
tongue.” 

FROM THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE.— " Yio dictionary of the authors of any language 
has ever before been undertaken on so grand a scale. For convenience and trustworthi- 
ness this work is probably not surpassed by any similar production in the whole range 
of modern literature.” 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, free of expense, upon 

receipt of the price, by the Publishers, 

J. B. Lippincott Company, 715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia. 


30 




F^INKNOIKI— 

grgjp^^;j;yg3:a.yj-;3-yy3 p^;3^ . 373 ^ VT?? Til ^_;j ^ VJ^LJ ^ ^ 



Tbe imericaii Fire 

Offices : 

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Insorance Companj. 

308 and 310 Walnut Street, 
Philadelphia. 


Cash Capital $500,000.00 

Reserve for Re-Insurance and all other claims 2,286,388.25 

Surplus over all Liabilities 307,152.28 


Total Assets^ January 1, 1892, $3,093,540.53. 


THOS. H. MONTGOMERY, President. RICHARD MARIS, Secretary and Treasurer. 

CHAS. P. PEROT, Vice-President. JAMES B. YOUNG, Actuary. 

Thomas H. Montgomery, Alexander Biddle, Samuel Welsh, 

Israel Morris, Charles P. Perot, Charles S. Whelen, 

Pemberton S. Hutchinson^ Joseph E. Gillingham. Edward F. Beale, Jr. 


TRUST AND SAFE DEPOSIT COMPANY 



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them.” Ten cents in stamps. The Travellers’ 
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office. 


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No. 517 CHESTNUT STREET, 

INCORPORATED MARCH 10, 1812. 
CHARTER PERPETUAL. 

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WM. P. HENRY, SeC’Y AND Treas. 

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O. M. CROSBY, Editor, Avon Park, Florida. 


COMBINATION 

STANDS 



a B One style made especially for the 
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as shown in cut. 

K Revolving Book Cases, Book Rests, 
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Sendfor R. M. LAMBIE, 
Catalocue. £. 19t]l St.. N. Yi 



31 



7v^isce:i_i-kne:ous 

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None genuine without 
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32 



7v\:isoe:l-i-kis[e:ous 



The FISCHER PIANOS are used 
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Pianos and Organs. 

TOUR enrloslij Is excited, a cent Is spent (for postal). your 
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never repent, if you need now, or ever, a Piano or Organ.* 
GEO. P. BENT.f Clerk No. 19). Chicago. Ill.fEstab. 1870) 



Can’t help 

Keeping Ahead 

: Left to itself upon 
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All about Columbias in Book about Columbias, 
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OLD MUSIC BOXES CAREFULLY 
REPAIRED AND IMPROVED. 




PHILADELPHIA. 



33 


HOW MANY YEARS 

Will nj Piano last? 

If it be this make it may 
outlive you. Interesting 
Catalogue. 

c. c. Bmas h CO., 

5 and 7 Appleton Street, Boston. 


n I l-lf m 1 1 M I 'I B 1 1 3 1 W * * * ! g 1 1 l ' M *' l I I I 1 1 M win? 




WITH THE WITS, 






HI 


Eipi 


Dey ain’t much for beauty, but dey saves me from totin’ a sun umbrel’.’ 


Said Burns, “Some power the sriftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us;” 

But pleasing more to all the posing elves 
If others saw them as they see themselves. 
34 



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A. W. FABER>S EKAO PENCILS, 

Pen-holders, Rubber Bands, and Pencil Sharpeners. 

If you cannot obtain these goods from your Stationer, send 80 cents for samples. 

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CHICAGO. SOLE AGENT AND MANUFACTUREB. NKW VORK. 



I'T" XI— IIQ OI IX y®®*" n*“>e *n(i ex- 

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VV. S. SIMPSON, 37 College Place, N. Y. 


ESTABLISHED 1840. 

FRANKLIN 


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Send 25c. for Samples worth double. 


PRINTING INK WORKS, 

JOHN WOODRUFF'S SONS, 

XS17 a-ncl ISld Cherry Btreet, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

Thii Magazine Is printed with JohnWoodmff’s Sons* Inks. 



INDELIBLE INK. 


For marking on Linen with 
a common pen. Established 
over 50 years. Sold by all 
Druggists and Stationers In the U. S. If your dealer 
does not keep It, send 25c. for a bottle, post-paid, to 
A. L. Wllliaton, Mfgr., Northampton. Maoo. 


36 






rJr<rJrJ,J ; I , I ' IIP , . ' Tl 

g H R 1 N Q K RRM R E L 

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Importers and Retailers. 



THE LARGEST AND FINEST ESTABLISHMENT 
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Fall and Winter Catalogue now ready. 


SPECIAI.. 

When the reader of Eippincott’s is in search 
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she would do well to call and examine our line 
before purchasing elsewhere ; for we feel sure 
we can offer better value than any house in the 
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time ; for we are offering a fine line of Dinner 
and Tea Ware at prices 50 per cent, lower than 
elsewhere. Our line of Imported Glassware 
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Mailed free to out-of-town residents. 


Orders by mail receive prompt attention. 
Paid Packages delivered free of charge to 
any address within 75 miles of the city. 


l-I. O’NEILL & CO., 

* * 6 th Ave., 20th to 2ist St., N.Y. 


Embarrassing, 



isn’t it, 
when your 
dress flies 

►- 

open. It can’t, if 
you use the De 
Long Hook and 
Eye. See that 


humpr 





li Wash Floss. 

This is much used for the best effects in Artistic 
Embroidery. A loosely twisted silk thread should 
always be sold on Spools which keep the Floss 
clean and avoids shopwear and fraying. The use 
of skeins is not only wasteful and inconvenient, but 
the work produced is inferior. One trial of theSpool 
Floss will convince 'you of its superior quality. 
“Florence Home Needlework” for 1892, is now ready. 
It tells you all about Irish Lace, Sewing, Crocheted 
Scarfs (4 new styles), Belts, Garters, Passementeries, 
and other Fascinating Fancy work Fads ; q6 pages, 
160 illustrations. This book will be mail^ on re- 
ceipt of 6 cents. 

NONOTUCK SILK CO.. Florence, Mass. 


WITH THE WITS. 



Toilet-Counter Repartee. 

Mrs. New-Rich. — “ Young man, have you any scents 

Mr. Fresh (somewhat surprised). — “I believe, madam, that I have the usual 
amount of gumption. 

Mrs. New-Rich (stiffly).— “ Sir, I do not understand you.^^ 

Mr. Fresh (getting in another).— “ True ; I believe you did inquire for scents.^' 


Advertising that Didn^t Pay. 

There was a man of our town, 

And he was wondrous wise : 

Said he, ‘‘The blooming idiots 
Are those who advertise. 

And right he was, for he had “ flunked^ ^ 
Where others flunked before. 

With one price in his window-front 
And another in the store. 


In battle the Highlander is kilted to the knees ; but when an Irishman dies 
he^s kilt entirely. 


88 


Tvn sc e: i-l-hneou s 






Thisisthc Priest, 

AllSHAVEff 
Al/D shorK 
Who marrio) 

THE maiden 
A.U FORLORN 

fTHlSlSTHCf^A^O^ 
Sha!\pv^KeeM, 

Which sha/eo thepriest 

So SMOOTH 
^ A/Fo CLEAJ^. 

TORREY RAZORS 
AND STROPS 

are known, used, and praised everywhere. 

Every RAZOR and STROP sold under 
a guarantee to give satisfaction. 

Ask your dealer for Torrey goods 

Our Book, how to select, sharpen, and keep a Razor 
in order— Free. 

J. R. Torrey Razor Co., 

P. O. Box 769 . Worcester, Mass. 

^iiT HalCs 

lt\sthe^iisrr, yeg^table 

Thickens the growth and restores 
the youthful color to Gray Hair. 
Prevents Baldness, cures Dan- 
druff, Humors, and all Scalp 
Diseases. A fine hair dressing. 


^\xG\(\vva\\^To:s 

The most complete Brown or 
Black Dye ever discovered. The 
gentlemen’s favorite. 

B. P. Hall & Co., Proprietors, Nashua, N.H. 
Sold by all Druggists. 


Vbit’s tit natttr with a Solid 

SantA'Claus 


It's all right 

For the baby for an 
oatmeal spoon ^ or as 
a tea spoon ^ or as a 
charming souvenir 
of the season for 
anybody. 

Go to Johnston's^ 
ly Union Square^ 
New - York, They 
will tell you all 
about it. 

If you can't go, 
write and you will 
receive full descrip- 
tion of it, with a 
complete new list, 
illustrated, of 
every souvenir 
spoon, and, if 
you ask it, their 
Fall Price-List 
full of Holiday 
suggestions 
and profusely 
illustrated. 
Diamonds, 
Watches, Jew- 
elry, 
ware. 






Silver- Price, 

Gold 
Bowl, 

SENT TO ANT ADDRESS. 


Jewelry, worn and out of style, accumulates in 
every household. If you will send us yours by 
registered mail, we will either credit your account 
in exchange for more serviceable articles, or pur- 
chase it outright if preferred. 


J. H. JOHNSTON & CO. 

17 Union Square, N. Y. 


39 




READING RAILROAD 


YORK, 


PHILADELPHIA, 

WASHINGTON. 


.-g 


THE ROYAL BLUE LINE. 


Vestibuled Trains of Luxuriously Appointed Coaches, 
Pullman Parlor, Buffet, Dining and Sleeping Cars. 


RUNNING ON THE 


FINEST TRACK IN THE WORLD. 

has achieved and will main- 



tain the reputation of being the best-equipped and 
best-conducted route of travel in America. Its trains are 
the fastest that run between Philadelphia and New York. 
They are provided with every modern convenience and every 
approved appliance to ensure safety. They start promptly 
at the appointed minute, and arrive at their destination 
positively “on time.” 



A. A. McLEOD, 

President and General Managrer. 


40 


C. G. HANCOCK, 
General Passengrer Agrent, 




^ SIMPLE OF MANIPULATION <a N 
PLATES OR FILMS ARE USED 
THE SHUTTER IS ALWAYS SET 
COVERED WITH LEATHER 

Send pjr Otalc^ue i copy cif Modern PhotogrAphy 

ROCHESTER OPTICAL COMPANY. 

5. Water St. ROCHESTER. MY. 



♦* 




“OUIJ 7 A. 

(TRADE-MARK.) 

PRONOUNCED WE-JA. 

PATENTED 1890. 

Iln Sgjftlai luk'BiirL 

Mo&t VTot^devfttl Invention 
oftHe lOtH Century, 


T he ‘‘ Ouiia” is without doubt the most interesting, remarkable, and mysterious production 
"eenth Century. Its operations are always interesting and 
Questions coiicerninff the past, present, and future, with marvellous accuracy. It furnishes never tailing 
amusement and recreation for classes, while for the or thou^ 

Invite the most careful research and investigation,-apparently forming unites the known 

With the unknown, the material with the immaterial. It forces upon us fiction that a gr^t truth 

Was contained in the statement of the Danish Prince: “There are more things in heaven and earth, 

Horatio, than were ever dreamed of in thy philosophy 1 ^ ^ , .. 

Manufactured by the ‘*OuUa Novelty Co„»» No. 909 East Pratt St., Baltimore, »Id. Also 
manufacturers of other novelties. 



CARBUT-rS ORTHO-PLATES and FILMS 

are now the favorites with all bright Professionals and 
Amateurs. Ask your dealer for them and take no other. 
Write for reduced price list. 

JOHN CAR BUTT, Wayne Junction, Philadelphia, 
Mention Lippinoott’s Magazine. 


ww • Send stamp for complete catalogue of 
sheet and book music at less than one- 
4TlUOIV> regular rates. E. J. KNOWLES, 

3844 Aldine Place; Chicago. 


MONARCH CYCLES 

Thoroughly 

High Grade. 

Pnenmatic Tyres. 
CnsMon TyreT 

1 MONARCH CYCLE CO. Manufac*“''e'^» 

42-5/3 No. Halsted St., CHICAGO, ILL. 
Send fob Catapoque Bf. 


41 








^HEWOIp^ 




CAUTION,— Beware of dealers sub- 
stituting: shoes without W. U, Doug:las 
name and the price stamped on bottom, 
Such substitutions are fraudulent and 
subject to prosecution by law for ob- 
' tainingr money un- 
der false pretences 


W. L. DOUGUS 


$3 SHOE 


GENTLEMEN. 


A aenufne sewed shoe that w ill not rip ; fine Calf, 
seamless, smooth inside, flexible, more comfortable, stylish 
and durable than anv other shoe ever sold at the price. 
Equals custom-made shoes costing from $4 to $5. 

The only $3,00 Shoo made with two complete 
BoleSy securely sewed at the outside edge (as shown in cut), 
which gives double the wear of cheap welt shoes sold at the 
same price, for such easily rip, having only one sole sewed 
to a narrow strip of leather on the edge, and when once 
worn through are worthless. 

The two solesoftheW, B, DOUGLAS $3,00 Shoe 
when worn through can be repaired as many times as 
necessary, as they will never rip or loosen from the upper. 

Purchasers of footwear desiring to econo- 
mize, should consider the superior qualities 
of these shoes, and not be influenced 
to buy cheap welt shoes sold at $3.00, 
having only appearance to commend 
them. W, L, DOUGLAS Men’s 
$4 and $5 Fine Calf, Hand 
Sewed ; $3*50 Police and Farm- 
ers; $^.50 Fine Calf; $2.25 
and $2.00 Workingmen’s; 
Boys* $2.00 and Youths* 
1.75 School Shoes; Ladies* 
13,00 Hand Sewed: $2.50« 
~12.00 and Misses* 
,1,75 Best Dongola, 
are of the same higa 
standard of merit. 


Will give exclusive sale to shoe dealers and general merchants where I have 
no agents. Write for catalogue. If not for sale in your place send direct to Factory* 
stating kind* size and width wanted* Postage free* W« L. Douglas* Brockton* Mass* 



DOII AilTI dress reform 

rSILANTI UNDERWEAR 


[For FALL and WINTER WEAR.} 

NEW IMmVEMENTS 


—IN— 


YPSILANTI 

Equestrienne 
Tights. 

Send for new Catalogue. Samples, and 
revised Price List. Where we have no Agent, 
they can be obtained ot tbe manufacturers. 

HAY & TODD MFG.CO., 



O. N. S. 


••Onr New Shape” Combination Suits are 
now on sale. Bee new Fall Catalogue for 
particulars. 

DON’T BE DECEIVED! 

Bee that each garment is stamped with our 
Trade-Mark— 

“YpsHanfi Health Underwear,"^ 

Ypsllanti Underwear is warranted perfect by 
the manufacturers, when stamped with the 
above trade-mark, and sold at regular prices. 

YPSILANTI, MICH. 


PILLOW 

i ■■■Liw"! sham hnlri 


HOLDER, Do not pay 
2 or 3 dollars for a pillow 
sham holder. Mine are in sets of 
three, nicely nickel-plated, with 
screws complete and directions 
for putting np. They will last a 
lifetime. Mailed, post-paid, to any address for 10 
cents a set; one dozen sets, 75 cents. Agents wanted 

T. M. GANDY, Gedarville, Conn, 


le are in »el^ ni 

10 CENTS 


DEAF 


NESS AND HEAD NOISES CURED 

bj Peck’s Invisible Tubular £ar Cushions. Whis- 
pers heard. Successful when all remedies 

tKtt 


tali. Soldonly bjrF.Hi8COx,853B*waj.N.Y. Write fur book of proofs! 


THiS MACHINE 

- You can give this elegant 
I machine a thorough test before Bending 
Snsonocent. TRIAL FREE. All attachment* 
free. Every machine warranted 6 years. 
For catalog, full particulars, etc., cut 
• send to us to-day, 

[ AL\ AH i!lFG. C’O. , Uept. 27* thicago, ifL 

Please mention Ln»pn»coTT’s MjroAzmit. 


or any other drngl 
has got the best of I 
TOO send tO DB, f 
I KANE, 86 6th Ave., New York^and reeelTel 
I a never-falling enre FREE BY MAIL, 



FREE 


If you will send us within the next 30 days a photograph or a tintype ot 
yourself, or any member of your family, living’ or dead, we will make you 
one of our finest $25.00 life-size CRAYON PORTRAITS absolutely free of 

charge. This offer is made to introduce our artistic portraits in your 

vicinity. Put your name and address back of photo., and send same to Tanquerey Portrait 
Society, 741 DeKalb Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y. References: Rev. T. DeWitt Talmadge, all news- 
paper publishers. Banks, and Express Companies of New York and Brooklyn. P. S.--We will 
lorteit $100 to anyone sending us photo, and not receiving crayon picture Free as per this otter. 

42 




^^TOIL-ET KRTICI-ES*^i^l 




WE 
GIVE 


XHISt^ 


You can have 
the Desk or 
Lamp 

FREE 

If you will buy one 
of our Combination Boxes of 

•‘SWEET HOME- Soap and 
Toilet Articles, which we sell 
on trial, too. 

You MUST HAVE SOAR— 

It is an absolute necessity— the 
only question is where you 
shall buy i t ; we make it a de- 
cided object for you to buy of 
us — direct from factory to con- 
sumer, and save all middle- 
men’s and dealers’ profits. 

Our Combination Box 

contains a large supply of the 
best yoaps and finest Toilet 
Articles made, and will give sat- 
isfaction to the most fastidious 
person. We have been manu- 
facturing Soaps for over 17 
years, and operate one of the 
largest and best equipped 
plants in this country, having 
a capacity of fifteen million 
pounds a year. 

Xlie ** Chautauqua** Desk 

is a “thing of beauty” and will be “a joy forever” to all who 
possess one. It is artistically designed, complete in appoint- 
ments, a model piece of furniture, and affords what nine 
out of ten homes lack— a suitable and convenient place for 
writing letters, studying, drawing, etc., etc., which will be 
used and appreciated by every member of the family. 

It is made of SOLID OAK, varnished and hand-rubbed 
finish, with brass trimmings. It stands five (5) feet high, 
is two and a half (2X) feet wide and ten and a hall (10>^) 
inches deep. 

Itis a perfect and complete desk, and also has three roomy 
book shelves, a top shelf for bric-a-hi’ac, seven pigeon- 
holes for papers, compartments for letter paper, ink, etc. 

When placed in your home, filled with books which you 
nrize, and ornamented with the gifts of friends, it will be- 
come a centre of attraction, and you will be grateful to us 
fcr adding a new pleasure to your life. 

YOU RUN NO RISK! 

We do not ask you to remit in advance, 
or take any chances. We merely ask 

permission to send you a DESK end 

Combination Box, andif after 30 DAYS TRIAL you are fully 
convinced that the goods are all we claim, you can then pay 
the bill — $io. But if you are not satisfied in every way, 
no charge will be made for what you have used and we 
will take the Box and Desk away at our own expense. 
HOW CAN WE DO MORE? If you want the Lamp in- 
stead of the Desk, state it in your order. 

Some people prefer to send cash with OTder--^'e do 
not ash it — but if you remit in advance, we will place 
in the Box, in addition to all the other extras named, 
a valuable present for the lady of the house. Where 
boxes~ are paid for in advance, we ship same day 
order is received. All other orders are filled in their 
regular turn. Persons remitting in advance can 
have their money refunded tvithout argument or 
comment if the Box or Desk does not prove all th^y 
I expect. PRICE OF BOX COMPLETE, ONLY 
\ $10,00, including the DESK Q'lf LAMP. 

We can refer yon to thousands of people who have used Sweet H ome Soap for 
tnany years and still order at regular intervals, also Bank of Buffalo, Bank of 
Commerce, Buffalo : Henry Clews & Co., Bankers, New York ; Metropolitan 
National Bank, Chicago, or any other Ba&^er iu tbe United States, Also B. 
Don & Co. i and the Bradstreet Co. 


ORDER 

TO-DAY 


EACH BOX CONTAINS 

ONE HUNDRED CAKES (full size) $6.00 
** S WEET HOME Family Soap, enough 
to last an average family one year. 

11 BOXES BORAXINE, a New and Won- 
derful Discoveryl Cannot Possibly Injure the 
Fabric. Simple — Easy — Efl&cient. In each 
package is a coupon for joc., payable in goods. 

One Box ( 1-4 Doz.) Modjesha Complexion 
Soap. It removes all roughness, redness, 
blotches, pimples and imperfections from the 
face. Especially adapted for the nursery or 

children’s use, 

One Bottle Modjesha Perfume, a delicate, 
refined, delicious perfume. Most popular 

and lasting made, 

One Box (1-4 Doz.) Ocean Bath Toilet 
Soap. A delightful and exhilarating substi- 
tute for sea bathing, 

One Box (1-4 Doz.) Creme Oat Meal 

Toilet Soap, 

One Box (1~4 Doz.) Elite Toilet Soap, • 

One English Har Modjesha Cold Cream, 
Delightfully Pleasant, Soothing, Healing. 

Cures Chapped Hands and Lips, . 

One Bottle Modjesha Tooth-Powder. Pre- 
serves the teeth, hardens the gums, sweetens 

the breath, ^ • 

One Packet Clove Pinh Sachet Powder, 

Refined, Lasting, 

One Stick Napoleon Shaving Soap, 


1.10 


1.10 


.30 


.30 

J$5 

.30 


ULbN or LAIVir IT DOUglll 

All for $10 1 


.as 

. .30 

$11.00 
10.00 

$21.00 


Price of Articles if Bought Separately, . 

DESK or LAMP if Bought of Dealer, . 

* - - YOU GET THE 

DESK 
GRATIS. 

Established ists. Incorporated lasa. 

Paid up Cash Capital. SSOO.OOO.OO. 

Over Ten Thousand persons who have used “ SWEET HOME*’ Soap 
Cor several years have become Stockholders in oar Company, 

Larkin Soap Mfg. Co., 

Factories; Seneca, Heacock 4 Carroll StSi 


43 




WITH THE WITS. 



In Darkest Africa. 

It’s getting as dark as it can, and darker.— Carroll. 

A very mournful thing it is to think that each fond mother 
Should be, without the slightest cause, so jealous of the other ; 

For, though their little argument has come to such a pitch. 

Not Solomon himself could tell which lovely babe was which. 

If only they would compromise, — if one would but admit, 

“Your baby^s wool is kinkier than miners, a little bit,^^ 

Perchance the other one would say, “They both are little dears, 

But, now I look more closely, yours has the larger ears.^^ 

But no, they will not do it ; each has a mother^s pride ; 

With naught but full retraction will each be satisfied ; 

And as this is impossible, and blows are threatened, maybe 
Each absent-mindedly may make a club of her sweet baby. 

Margaret Vandegrift 


Taking One^s Place. 

He. — “ They say that three makes a crowd. 

She. — “ Yes ; but two can make a worse oiie.^^ 

He (uneasily).— “ How?” 

She (reassuringly). — “ When another tries to stand in your shoes.” 


A LITTLE sin^s a little leaven. 
Because we rise frorp it to heaven. 


44 






BABY’S BATH OF BEAUTY 

^ For baby^s skin, scalp, and hair, nothing in the whole world is so cleansing, 
so purifying, and so beautifying as the celebrated Cuticura Soap, the most 

effective skin purifying and beautifying soap in 
the world, as well as purest and sweetest of 
toilet and nursery soaps. For irritating and 
scaly eruptions of the skin and scalp, with dry, 
thin, and falling hair, red, rough hands, with 
shapeless nails, and simple rashes and blem- 
ishes of infancy and childhood, it is absolutely 
incomparable. Thousands of grateful mothers 
pronounce it the only perfect baby soap. 

CUTICURA SOAP 

Is the only cure for pimples and blackheads, 
because the only preventive of inflammation 
and clogging of the pores, the cause of minor affections of the skin, scalp, and 
hair. Sale greater than the combined sales of all other skin and complexion 
soaps. 

TTnW SnfTpr their tender skins are literally on fire with itching, scaly, and blotchy 

1 low UdUlCc) OUllCl skin and scalp diseases, none but mothers realize. A single application of the 
Cui icuRA Remedies will afford immediate relief, permit rest and sleep, and point to a speedy and economical cure. 
Price ; Cuticura, the great Skin Lure, 50c. Cuticura Soap, 25c. Cuticura Resolvent, the new Blood Purifier, 
^i.oo. Potter Drug and Chemical Corporation, Boston. ‘^All about the Skin, Scalp, and Hair," 
mailed free. 




KEEPS 

Flour 

DRY 

AND 

Free 

FROM 

Dirt 


Combines 
Bin 

Sifter 

PAN& 

Scoop. 

Aerates 

AND ' _ 
Preserves 

Flour 

FaOM 

MOLD 


FLOUR 

s 

Avoids the great inconvenience of reaching into 
a barrel or sack. No scattering. Saves time and 
waste. Once tried you wonld not be without it 
for many times its cost. Send for circular. 



Prices 
to hold 


25 lbs. 8S2.50 
601bs. SiS.OO 
100 lbs. m^.oo 


Your dealer sells them 
or ought to. If he does 
not please write to us. 


SHERMAN & BUTLER, Manufacturers, 
86-28 W. Lake Street. CHICAGO, ILL. 



$1 0 worth of amusement for I5e.! 

With the 176 different problems of the 
“ANCHOR Puzzle,” 
Cpostage prepaid— price 20c.') 
Apply for free beautiful, illustr. Cata- 
logues, also about other Puzzles, etc., to 
F. AD. RICHTER & CO., 

17 Warren St., New York. 

45 


“A CTIN A.” 


Tie Great 



Restorer ! 


ONLY CATARRH CURE. 

THROWAWAY YOUR SPECTACLES. 

A CTINA is the marvel of the Nineteenth 
Century, for by its use the Blind See, 
the Deaf Hear, and Catarrh iis 
impoNsible. Actina is an absolute certainty 
ill the cure of Cataracts, Pterygiums, Granulated 
Lids, Glaucoma, Amauros:is, Myopia, Presbyo- 
pia, Common Sore Eyes, or weakened vision 
from any cause. No animal except man 
wears spectacles. THERE NEED 
NOT BE A SPECTACLE USED ON 
THE STREETS OF THE WORLD, 
AND RARELY TO READ WITH. 
STREET GLASSES ABANDONED. 
Actina also cures Neuralgia, Headaches, Colds, 
Sore Throat, Bronchitis, and Weak Lungs. 
Actina is not a snuff or lotion, but a Per- 
fect ELECTRIC POCKET BATTERY, 
usable at all times and in all places by young 
or old. The one instrument 'will cure a whole 
family of any of the above forms of disease. 

A valuable rook free on appli- 
cation. • Contains Treatise on the Human 
System, its diseases and cure, and thousands 
of References and Testimonials. 

Beware of fraudulent imitations. See that 
the name W. C. Wilson, Inventor, Patent No. 
341,712, is stamped on each instrument. None 
genuine without. 

AGENTS WANTED. AVRITE 
FOR TERMS. 

New York and London Electric Ass'n, 

1021 MAIN ST., KANSAS CITY, MO. 






m I SC E LLPi N EOU S 


S20,000 FORFEIT 

If Your Freckles and Tan are Not Removed. 

MME. RUPPERT makes the above offer for 
any case in which her world renowned FACE 
BLEACH is unsuccessful. 

The Greatest Discovery 

of the Nineteenth Century. 

Millions of bottles have been sold throughout the 
world, and everywhere its great merit is appreciated. 

Its price, per bottle, is reasonable. Think of it. 
One bottle is often sufficient to clear a bad complexion. 

Call or send 6c. postage for my book. IIow to 
be Beautiful.” Every one should read it. 

Sent in plain wrapper on receipt of price. 

MME. A. RUPPERT. 

6 East 14th St., NEW YORK. 

Branch Offices in all large cities. 

■ tk I E? O ¥ If joudesireatrans* 
^1 CLO ■ parent, CLEAR, 
FRESH complexion, FREE from blotch, 
blemish, roughness, coarseness, redness, 
freckles or pimples use DB. CAMPBELL’S 
SAFE ARSENIC COMPLEXION 
WAFERS. These wonderful wafers have 
the efifect of enlarging, invigorating, or filling 
out any shrunken, shrivelled or undeveloped 
parts. Price, by mail, $1,6 Boxes. $5. Depot, 
216 6th Ave., New York, and all Druggists. 



MArenr/Mi 

For Heantifyinff the Complexloti. 
Removes all Freckles, Tan, Sunburn, Pimples, Liver 
Moles, and other imperfections. Not covering^wt reviov- 
ing all blemishes, and permanently restoring the com- 
plexion to its original freshness. For sale at Druggists, oi.’ 

Prof. I. Hubert 


mtpost,- . — 

MALVINA ICHTHYOL SOAP 

25 Cents a Cake. 


TOLEDO, O. 



OAP&KBSB 

TP l 

CURB 

A cure for Piles, External, Internal, Blind, Bleed- 
ing, and Itching, Chronic, Recent, or Hereditary. 
This remedy has positively never been kno-wii to fail. 
SI a box, six for by mail. A written guarantee 
given with six boxes, when purchased at one time, 
to refund the if not cured. Guarantee issued by 
FiNNERTY, McClure & Co., Wholesale and Retail 
Agents. 106 Market Str eet, Pnlladelphia, P enna. 

STIiK ELASTIC 

ABDOMINAL 
SUPPORTER 

Safely sent by mail on receipt of 
price, S5. Elastic Stock- 
ingSyTruisses. Pamphlet/rec. 

C, W, FLAVELL A BRO.IOOS 8p. Garden sCp^ 

18th Edition-post-paid for 25 cents (or stamps). 

THE HUMAN HAIR, 

Why it Falls Off, Turns Gray, and the Remedy. 
By Prof. HARLEY PARKER, F.R.A.S. 

A. K. LO NG & CO., 

1013 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

“ Every one should read this little book.” — Athenppum. 

























if 






^\UUIIIlllllllllUllinilllllllllllUUiUDHIllllllUIIUlUllUll||/y 


LOVELY FACES, | 

WHITE HANDS. I 

Nothing will S 

WHITEN and CLEAR = 
the skin so quickly afi g 

Derina-Roiialei 

_ Tlie new discovery for # dissolv-s 

s ing and removing discolorations from the cuticle, E 
E and bleaching and brightening the complexion. In 3 
E experimenting in the laundry with a new bleach for S 
E fine fabrics it was discovered that all spots, freckles, S 
s tan, and other discolorations were quickly removed s 
S from the hands and arms without the slightest in- 3 
S jury to the skin. The discovery was submitted to S 
S experienced Dermatologists and Physicians who pre- s 
S pared for us the formula of the marvelous Derma- s 
S Hoy ale. there nevkr was anything like it. It is 3 
S perfectly harmless and so simple a child can use it. s 
3 Apply at night— the improvement apparent after a 5 
S single application will surprise and delight you. It — 
S quickly dissolves and removes the worst forms of 3 
£ moth-patches, brown or liver spots, freckles, black- 3 
3 heads, blotches, sallowness, redness, tan and every s 
3 discoloration of the cuticle. One bottle completely s 
E removes and cures the most aggravated case and 3 
S thoroughly clears, whitens and beautifies the com- 3 
5 plexion. It has never failed — it cannot fail. It is s 
S highly recommended by Physicians and its sures 
s results warrant us in offering 3 

= RFAVARD —To assure the public of its 3 

33>WU merits wo agree to forfeits 

3 Five Hundred Dollars cash, for any case of moth- 3 
3 patches, brown spots, liver spots, blackheads, ugly = 
3 or muddy skin, unnatural redness, freckles, tan or S 
E any other cutaneous discolorations, (excepting birth-S 
3 marks, scars, and those of a scrofulous or kindred 3 
3 nature) that Denna-Iloyalo will not quickly removes 
Sand cure. Wo also agree to forfeit Five Hundred 3 
E Dollars to auy person whoso skin can be injured in 3 
3 the slightest possible manner, or to anyone whose s 
3 complexion (no matter in how bad condition it may s 
3 be), will not be cleared, whitened, improved and 3 
5 beautified by the use of Derma- Itoyale. 3 

S Put up !n elegant stylo In large olght-ouneo holtles. s 
3 Price. 81.00. EVERY BOTTLE GUARANTEED. = 
3 Derma-Royale sent to any address, safely packed 3 
p and securely sealed from observation, safe delivery 3 
£ guaranteed, on receipt of price, 81-00 per bottle, s 
S Send money by registered letter or money order with g 
S your full post-office address written plainly; be sure 2 
S to give your County, and mention this paper. 3 
£ Correspondence sacredly private. Postage stamps s 
E received the same as cash. 3 

Send for Term# 


lAtEHISVAllTEB: 


110 AW. I 


hiells on 8ight 

Address The DERMA-ROYALE COMPANY, g 
^ Comer Baker nnd Vine Street#. CINCINNATI OlllO. 

^//miiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiuV^ 


BEATTY 


Piano. Orsan.lil23up. Want agents. Cat. 
aloguofree. Dan’l F. Beatty, Washington, N. J. 


30 


days on trial. Hood’s Magic Bcaie, the popu- 
lar Ladies’ Tailoring System. Illustrated cir- 
cular free. Rood Magic Scale Co., Chicago, IIL 



MUSIC BOXES, ORQANETTES, 


ELECTRIC MECHANICAL NOVELTIESi ETC. Catalogue^] 
HARKACH GO.. 809 Filbert Ht., Pliila., Pa. 


Photo. Outfits, Steam Ezines.' 

ree. 


m ^ n ■_ ^ The African Kola Plant, 

discovered in Congo, West 
Nil ■■■■ Africa, is Nature’s 8 ure 
Cure for A.sthma. Cure Guaranteed or No 
Paj. Export Office, 1164 Broadway, New York. 

ForXiargre Trial Case. FRKE by Mall, address 
KOLA IMPORTING CO., 132 Vine St., Cincinnati. Ohio. 


46 


tun umm us saw 

and Binding combined. A new article for ladies’ 
skirt-bands Binding. Woven in shape to fit the 
waist. For sale at all leading dry-goods houses. 

SECKENDORF &, CO., Sole American Aeents, 

26, 28, 30, and 32 E» Houston 8t., N. Y, 


r ^ 


7viiscel.l.kne:ous 



ASK YOUR GROCER FOR 

The Celebrated 

CHOCOLAT 

MENIER 

Anntuil Sales Exceed 33 MILLION LbS* 

Write foif* Samples. Sent Free. Menler, Union Sq., N. Y. 



an elegant 1IANI>-M41>E sour-mash whiskey, 
distilled, on the Ante-Bellum plan, in the moun- 
tains of Kentucky, — especially for gentlemen as a 
beverage, or a restorative for brain-workers and 
nervous debility. 

To suit this demand, we bottle our oldest stock, 
which was distilled in 1875, and put in cases, con- 
taining 12 bottles, at $15 per case; or can supply it 
by the gallon, keg. or barrel, from 5 to 15 years old, at 
$4 to $7.50 i)er gallon. 

For the character of our house, established In 
1845, we refer to the Governor of Kentucky, Judges 
of our Supreme Court, and all Louisville Banking 
Institutions. 

The absolute purity of “The Belle of Nelson’' Is 
guaranteed. Address 

BELLE OF NELSON DISTILLERY CO., 
123 and 25 E. Main Street, 

LOUISVILLE, KY. 



l>;roIiAT9KETC'HIJP.^^^^ 


Xove’s tongue proves dainty 
Bacchus gross in taste/' but not 
even fastidious love could find 
anything gross in the taste of 
Shrewsbury Tomatoketchup. 

E:C'Iria.Ta.T6tg(^: 


CLARKE’S 
PURE 
RYE 


ABSOLUTELY PURE. 

The purity— age and elegant 
bouquet of Clarke’s Puro 
Bye has won for it the title— 

The Finest Whiskey In the World 

and places It foremost for medicinal, 
club and family use. Each I'ackage bears 
U. S. Chemist’s Certificate of purity. 
Non© genuine withotittrademarJs C. B.<fc 

Co., on label. Price; per Bottle, $1.50; per 

Do*. $12; per Gal. $4; per 2 gal. $3.50, securely pnciced. We 
ask a trial order. For sale by al 1 druggists or COLBURN , 
BIRKS & CO., Sole Props., 20 A^h St., Peoria, IIL 


Pure Wines±!!!iLiquors 

$ 4.00 per Case and upwards, 

Via Express or Freight, 

1 TQ by P<^st paid, $1.50 per 100 
k>'.L^ CLi 10 aud up. Complete price list free. 

J, C, Childs cr* Co,^ J46 Sth Ave.y N, F. 


TOBACCO 
I HABIT 

For sale by all lirst-class drutfoists. or bent by mall on r> 
ceipt of 81.00. Ask for HILL’S Tablets, and take no others. 

Particulars freel THE OHIO CHEMICAL CO., 
by mail. Address/ 51, 53, and 55 Opera Block, LIMA, O. 


HILL’S CHLORIDE OF GOLDTaoieis 

will completely destroy the desire for Tobacco 
It liny form in from 3 to 5 days. Perfectly 
harmless, cause no sickness, and may ^ 
given in a cup of tea or coffee, without the 
knowledge of the patient, who will voluntarily 
stop Smoking or Chewing In a few daya 

EASILY 


CURED 


47 





WITH THE WITS. 



Both.--“ Busted 

First Broke.— “ Well, Jim, what are we going to do about it 
Second Broke. — “ Let^s organize an expedition to the North Pole, and go. 
Tlien the government will have to come to our relief,^^ 


The difference between a jeweller and a physiognomist is that the former 
faces the watch and the latter watches the face. 


When rival clothiers go into litigation, it is not so apt to be on account of 
breaches of the peace as on account of a piece of the breeches. 

48 


BRETELLES HYGIENIQUES. 



we:hring hppt^rel 

:TP7T7i7»-.appyipggga:TPTay,p'^-^ ^137J';j1=rp?T3r;TPT3s,>g;:,-^ 



THE HOLMES CO. 

PATEtir UNION UNDER-GARMENTS 



Are perfection in fit and 
unlike any other gar- 
ment, as shown by cut, 
in which the points of 
interest are delineated. 

The question, “who 
makes the best fitting 
garment ?” is easily an- 
swered by the great success 
we have made with our 
tAVO patents, which are 
endorsed by thousands of 
society ladies as the best 
and most perfect fit- 
ting under-garment made. 

None genuine unless 
marked inside sateen lining 
“The Holmes Co.” 

See our new Catalogue with 
full descriptions of our new’ Pat- 
ents and iinp<jrtant facts con- 
nected w’itli them, unknown to 
Ladies not acquainted with our 
Garments wliich would benf^eful 
to any who intend to buy Union 
Under-garments. Any one wlio 
will take the trouble to see for 
herself, will buy no otheis. 

If our garni ents are not found 
at your best stores, send stamp 
direct to us and we will send 
swatches and self-measurement 
blank to any part of the world. 
Satisfaction guaranteed. 


THE HOLMES CO., 

109 Kingston Street, Boston, Mass. 



HYGIEN/CALLY 
EVERY MAN 
COMMITS A CRIME 

AGAINST COMMON 8EN8C IF HE DOES 
NOT WEAR THE GENUINE 

6UY0T SUSPENDERS. 



BEWARE OF 
I MIT A TIONS. 


THE NAHE OF 



ON EVERY 
PAIR. 


ALL OTHERS ARE 
IMITATIONS. 


For sale by every Men’s Furnishing, Dry Goods, 
and Clothing Store in the United States and Canada. 

If you are unable to procure from your dealer, 
send 50 cents in stamps for a sample pair to 


OSTHEIMER BROS. 

New York ; 

406 Broadway. 


Sole Representatives for 
j U. S. and Canada. 

Philadelphia : 

917-9x9 Filbert Street. 49 



Black Corsets a Specialty. 

Coralme has stood the test twelve years 
!n over 20 million corsets and dresses. 
Though costing more than French horn, 
and much superior in quality, the corsets 
boned with it are sold at the same price. 

Dr. Warner’s Coraline Corsets 
lead the world in amount of sales, in per- 
fection of shape, and in their high standard 
of excellence. Made in 24 styles to fit 
tvery figure. Prices from one to five dol- 
lars each. 

Sold everywhere. 

WARNER BROTHERS, 

New York and Chicago. 






-» I-J rJ 1-1 rJ 1^ i-J !-« r-» dnjjzL r" rf.H ddi=ldjd.5jclrl£:U::.x::H r K?. r rtrtd; ci?i?Ccl.ci JCg,£ 

RKILROKDS 



SAFEST 

FASTEST 

FINEST 



!^=©=^=@^=@= 


TRAINS IN THE 
WORLD 





ROYAL BLUE LINE TRAINS 


"O 


BETWEEN 


NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA. 
BALTIMORE. WASHINGTON. 


RUNNING VIA 


Baltifnope Ohio J^ailpoad. 


All 


trains are Vestlbulod from end to end. Heated by Steam, Lighted by Pintscli Gas, 
Protected by Pullman’s Anti-Telescoping Device, and operated under 
Perfected Block Signal System. 

The Baltue and Ohio Bailroad 

Maintains a Complete Service of Vestibuled 
Express Trains between 

NEW YORK, 

CINC/NNA Tl, 

ST. LOUIS, AND 
OHIO AGO, 

EQUIPPED WITH 

pallm&Q palace ^leepiqg Cai)^, 

Running Through Without Change. 



ALL B. AND 0. TRAINS 


BETWEEN THE 





ElSTandWESTlLWIISHIIIlTOI. 


I*'" 

J. T. 


& 211 Washington St.. Boston, Mass. 

415 Broadway, New York. 

N. E. Cor. 9th and Chestnut Sts., Phila., Pa. 
Cor. Baltimore and Calvert Sts., Baltimore, 
Md. 


iRRINCIPAL OFFICES: 


ODELL, 

General Kanager. 


} BALTIMORE, MD. { 


1351 Pennsylvania Ave., Washington. D.C. 
Cor. Wood St. and Fifth Ave.. Pittsburg, Pa. 
Cor. Fourth and Vine Sts., Cincinnati, O. 
193 Clark St.. Chicago, 111. 

105 North Broadway, St. Louis, Mo. 

CHAS. O. SCULL, 

General Passenger Agent* 


50 





7v^isce:l.l.mne:ous 



Are necessary in the erection of 
every well-constructed building. 


NEPONSET 
^ WATER-PROOF 



RELIABLE 
ARCHITECTS 
ALL INDORSE 


Better and cheaper than back plaster, 
and does not crumble. Always in place. 


Samples and full information FREE. 


FAORICS 


ALL GENUINE ‘»SET” ^ SONj MANUfACTWRS, EAST WALPOLE, MASS. 



HEAX YOUR HOUSE WIXH 

A GOOD HOT-AIR FURNACE ! 

Steam and hot-water apparatus are far more costly in the first instance, 
troublesome to manage, and expensive to keep in repair. A good Hot- 
Air Furnace is both an inexpensive and healthful means of house- 
warming. There are many that are not good. 

Tlie Parajfoii Steel Plate Furnaces are thoroughly good. 
Do you want to know about them? 

Write for the pamphlet, “HINTS ABOFT HEATING,” to the 
manufacturers, 

ISAAC A. SHEPPARD & CO., 

Third and Berks Sts., Philadelphia, Pa. 


AMERICAN 

lEBCBIHT'S nOOFin 

ROOFING.. 

(Extra Coated.) 

PLATES 

ALASKA 


(Heavily Coated.) 

Manufactured in 

Philadelphia. 

Every box guaranteed. Every 

sheet stamped with brand and thickness. 

NO 

WASTERS. 

IHERCHAFIT & GO., 

Philadelphia. 

New York. 

Chicago. 

London. 




The Celebrated Hj’gienic Allt ITIATTRE8S istheonly 
mattresi made that is always pure, clean and healthy ; com- 
fortable and luxurious. It has no sufierior for general use 
and is indispensable in cases of sickness. Neuralgia, Rheu- 
matism, and Asthme Write for cataloeue and testimonials. 
METROPOLITAN AIR GOODS CO., 7 Temple Place, Boston. 


WALL PAPER 


100 Samples, latest styles, , 
and complete instruction 
book. How to paper L _ ^ 

Onler direct from the manuf^turer^ 


- - -- d parlor pa- 

pers, 8 and loc. per roll, wide borders 
. „ , ^ and ceilings to match. Agentssendfor 

large sample books, money easily made taking orders. 

VVM. WALLACE, 16»5 Pino SU, Fbila., Pa. 



51 


for XMAS, paid for old 

n H Gold or Silver Watches, Jewelry or 
Diamonds. Send by registered package or express. 
We remit check by return mail. H. Hart, 45 Reynolds 
Arcade, Rochester, N. Y. Established 1880. 


WALL PAPERS 

The most complete set of samples f 

and instructions how to paper sent B ■ Ei ■ 

We have the largest and best selected stock in theU. Sw 
It will pay you to see our samples before purchasing. 
CUAS. M. N. KILLEN, 014 & 010 So. 20th St. Phila. 



WITH THE WITS. 



Not What He Meant. 

Smythe (concluding the exhibition of his burglar-alarm). — “So, you see, even 
if the thief does understand the working of the thing, he can^t prevent it from 
ringing. That^s why I have no uneasiness in showing it to you.'^ 


A KANGAROO about to spring is not a lifeless object by any means ; and yet it 
is on its last legs. 


52 



DRY GOODS 

U;j^^^r;3rJ^^??;j^j-?Vupr;jTy^?T?!Tp-^ya?yp7rv:T;ypVj^^7T?rp?r;j^ 


.Woven in tbeir own Looms and Bleaclied oi^^ 
^'/// their oj7n Greens. 

DESIGNS b;^ the BEST ARTISTS*, ^^,r: 

The following are a few of the Patterns to which the 
attention of Purchasers is specially directed : t 


No. 941. Black Thorn. 

'* 944. Jessamine, 

* 764. wild Rose, Aspara- 
gus, Bignonia. 

* 769. Chrysanthemum and 
Acacia. 

* 509. Rose and Fern. 

* 53 X. Gothic. 

* 534. Elarly English, 

* 550 Hibiscus and Tiger 
Flower. 


No. 852. Primro'se. 

“ 8^. Persian. 

86x. Flax. 

“ 862. Palm an<f 3 tephanotis. 
“ 863. Wheat. 

** 869. Autumn Fruit. 

“ 964. Passion Flower, Rose 
and Palm. 

** 574. Birds and Fishes. 

** 578. Japanese. 

** 583. Pompeian. 


No. 883. Mistletoe and Os^ 

" 975- Egyp^n. 

** 976^.Ass^^n. 

** 979. Moire Antique. 

** 596/^. Classic Gre^ " 

** 598. Egyptian Water Lily 
** 6^. Japanese Fans. 

** 608. Australian Plants and 
Birds. 

** 6ao. Arum Lily. 

** 24B. Rose, Shamrock and 
Thistle, 


DO 

THEY DO 
THEY DO 


CL1N6 

SPLIT 
SHRINK 

,, Ti?ey 5lip,on 

U$0 5.1^0 GqU(»vl 


53 






R 1 L R O K D S 



THE BEST RAILWAY 



ST. PAUL 


MINNEAPOLIS 


DEAD WOOD 


\\ B\uffs 


lirKm gton 


EYENNE 


^ PEORIA 


ST. LOUIS 


POOLE Bros:, th 


FROM 

CHICAGO AND ST. LOUIS 


ST. PAUL MINNEAPOLIS, OMAHA, KANSAS CITY, OENVER 

AND ALL POINTS IN COLORADO, UTAH, AND CALIFORNIA. 

P. S. EU8TIS, QEN L PASS’R AND TICKET AGENT, CHICAGO, ILL. 


64 






.JliJ^ ^^JrJ MrJrJ 

7v^isce:l-lkne:ous *^^1 

^7r^pppfP'P'prpr^i3PTgp'?yF»P'P;jp'13P>jgp>y<?f^yrp'P>Ta^ 




Mme. A. RUPPERT’S FACE BLEACH. 

Its wonderful effect la 
known In almost every 
household. Thousands 
who had diseases and dis- 
coloration of the skin (In- 
, eluding moths, freckles, 
sallowness, excessive red- 
ness, pimples, blackheads, 
olllness, etc.) have had 
their hearts gladdened by 
its use. 

IT IS ABSOLUTE- 
LY HARMLESS, all 

prominent physicians 
recommend It. It does 
not drive the impurities 
In, but draws them out. 
It is not a cosmetic to 
cover up, but a cure. 

ITS PRICE IS 
TREASONABLE. 

^One bottle, which 

costs $2, Is often sufficient to cure; or three bottles, usually 
required, $5. Pr^aratlons sent, securely packed in a plain 
wrapper. Mme. Kuppert’s book “How to be Beautiful 
sent for 6 cents. Mmb. A. Ruppbbt, 6 East 14th St., N. Y. 

FREE. 

SUPERB FORM. 

LOVELY COMPLEXION 
PERFECT HEALTH. 

Those are my portraits, and 
on account or the fraudulent 
air-pumps, “wafers,” etc., of- 
fered for development,! will tell 
any lady FREE what I used to se- 
cure these changes. HEALTH^ ' 

(cure of that ‘ ‘ tired ” feeling 
and all female diseases) 

Superb FORM, Brilliant, 

EYES and perfectlyPure - 
COMPLEXION assured. I . _ . 

Will pend sealed letter. Avoid advertising frauds. Name this paper, and 

address Mrs. ELLA M. DENT, Station B, San Francisco, CaL 

TYPEWRITERS. 

Unprejudiced advice given. All makes half-price. 
Shipped any where for examination. Exchanging 
a Specialty. Monthly payments. 52-page cat. free. 
TYPE wEITEB [ 31 Broadway, New York. 
HEADQUAETEES, j 186 Monroe St., Chicago. 




UIHIST 

WW Whist M 


ni AVCDC for free copy of 

FLAl Cllw “Whist,” the great 
Whist Monthly. Whist Pub. Co., Milwaukee, Wis. 



SWEET 

TONED. 

SOliD 

ON 

IdERIT. 


MODERATE PRICES, TERMS REASONABLE 

EVERY INSTRUMENT FULLY WARRANTED. 
CATALOGUES FREE. 

EMERSON PIANO CO., 


174 TREMONT ST.. 
BOSTON. MASS. 


92 FIFTH AVE., 
NEW YORK. 


FITS 


permanently 
cured. Treatise, testimonials and 
Remedy for trial sent FREE tc any 
sufferer. Established 22years. Adaress 

Dr.ROSS.RIcbmond.lndlana. 


MMB. 
BAILEV’S 
SVRK 


HAIR Grower 

is guaranteed to produce a Thick, Soft and Beau- 
tiful head of Long, Flowing HAIR in 8 to 12 
weeks. A purely vegetable and positively harm- 
less compound. Endorsed by leading physicians. 
Two or three packages will do it. Price, 50 cents 
per package, or three for 31. Sent by mail prepaid. 
Bailey Supply Co., Cooperstowii, N. Y. 


BOILING WATER OR MILK. 

EPPS’S 

©RATEFUL-COMFORTING. 

COCOA 

LABEULED 1-2 LB. TINS ONLY. 

PAINT«oors 

DIXON’S SILICA GRAPHITE PAINT 

Water will run from it pure and clean. It covers double 
the surface of any other jiaint, and will last four or five 
timeslonger. Equally useful for any iron work. Send for 
circulars. Jos. nixoN CuncinLE Co., Jersey City, N. J. 


Send for 



FIRST CLASS CURTAIN DESK 
$ZZi Four and a Half feet long. Un- 
limited variety in stock and to order. 

American Desk & Seating Co. 

270-272 Wabash Av. , CHICAGO. U.S.A. 


PERNIN 

SHORTHAND 

LEADS ALL. 


>8 to 12 weeks’ study. No shading, 
no position, read like print. Trial 
lesson free. Write PERNIN INSTI' 

I TUTE Detroit, Mich. 


rOURFUTURE 

ASTROLOGER. Drawer H, Kansas City. JHo- 


REVEALED 

Full written predic- 
tionof yourlife,20c. 
Give date of birth. 


DR. E. C. WEST^S 

NERVE ANO BRAIN 

Treatment, a specific for Hysteria, Dizziness, Fits, 
Nervous Neuralgia, Headache, Nervous Prostration 
caused by the use of alcohol or tobacco. Wakefulness, 
Mental Depression', Softening of the Brain, resulting 
in insanity, misery, decay, and death. Premature 
Old Age, caused by over-exertion of the Brain. Each 
box contains I month’s treatment. 31.00 a box, or 6 
boxes for 35.00, by mail. 

WE GUARANTEE SIX BOXES. 

With each 35 order we will send a written guarantee 
to refund the money If the treatment does not cure. 
Guarantees issued only by Finnerty, McClure & 
Co., Sole Agts., 106 Market St., Philadelphia, Penna 


FREE TO BOYS &filRL? 


i is large enough for any boy or girl c 
I best bioyole made. WATCH is the finest quality GOLD 
I FILLED. GUN is the finest breech loader. YOU HAVE 
YOUR CHOICE of these 3 on easy conditions. NOT 

1 CENTOF MONEY wanted |U|^ A I In H I from anyone for the choice. 
They are absolutely free. If J you wantf 

Bicycle, Watch or Gun, out this advt. out and send to us, we I 

send full explanation by mail, bicycle, watoh . gun by express. I 

A. CURTIS St CO., Dept, a 27, 170 W. Van Boren St.. Chicago. 




GANGER 


and Tumora scientifically treated 
and cured. Book free. 168 Elm St,, 
Dr. L. U, Gratlgny, Cincinnati, Ohio. 


BARBYSlRlGOPIffiROUS 

F OR THE 

HAIR/u«>SKIN. 



An elegant dressing. Prevents 
baldness, graj hair, and dandruff. 
Makes the hair grow thick and soft. 

^ Cures eruptions and diseases of the 
'skin. Heals cuts, bums, bruises and 
sprains. All druggists or by mail 50cts. 44 Stone SLN.Y. 


55 





WITH THE WITS. 



Chicago Blood will Tell. 

Arizona Pete. — “ Is that the trotter you bought in Chicago?’' 

Buffalo Eulamb. — “ Yes. She ain’t much on the trot ; but she kin cover a lot 
of ground, notwithstandin’.” 

Arizona Pete. — “ Is she got the wind?” 

Buffalo Eulamb. — “ You bet ! She’s got the wind, an’ she’s got the feet.” 


The difference between patriots and mercenaries is that the former, in time 
of war, charge by platoons, and the latter charge by the month. 


A PROGRESSIVE degree of perfection is embodied in the expression “getting 
his hand in.” As regards the pocket of the gullible client, the sentiment applies 
with singular directness to certain shining lights in the legal profession. 


56 


WANAMAKER’S. 


The greatest retail Shoe Trade of this market is 
done here. The greatest, with one exception, in the 
country. 

The amount is phenomenal, the growth natural. 
Sound principles beneath, sound progress on top. 

And yet until now we have never had the ideal ' 
Shoe store. Once before we thought we had but 
found our mistake. 

You are invited to the latest contribution to the 
New Philadelphia — our new Shoe store. 

- Hardly a scrap of the old furniture or fixtures, 
not a shred of old carpet remains. The decorative 
art touch is over it all. It is beautiful. It is com- 
modious. 

The new furniture holds fifteen thousand pairs 
more of forward stock than the old, and is so arranged 
that you can be served with increased promptness. 

Thought and money have been lavished upon 
this Shoe store. We have tried to find how much we 
could wisely spend upon it. The greatest Shoe busi- 
ness deserves the best outfit. 

But we have been more proud of the Shoes than 
of the Shoe store. Altho’ the store attractions are 
so much increased we shall still think more of the 
Shoes. They shall be more worthy — as the jewel 
is more worthy than the setting. 

Are you interested in shoes ? 

JOHN WANAMAKER. 


67 


SOULE’S SYNONYMES. 




A Dictionary of English Synonymes and Synonymous or Paral- 
lel Expressions, designed as a Practical Guide to aptness and 
variety of Phraseology. By Richard SoulK. New Edition, 
Revised a?id E 7 ilarged. By Gkorgk H. Howison, EL.D., 
Mills Professor of Philosophy in the University of California. 

Cloth, $2.25 ; half morocco, $2.75. 


FROM THE PHILA. EVENING TELEGRAPH. 

“ It has long been a standard work, and this new edition will serve to extend its usefulness. 
It first appeared in 1871, and at once took its place among the most valued works of its kind. 
Its design is to give the fullest possible lists of synonymous or parallel expressions. If syste- 
matically used, it cannot fail to give any waiter variety of phraseology, and thus its service is of a 
most practical kind. Professor Howison has done his part in the new edition exceedingly well.” 


FROM THE 
BOSTON GAZETTE. 




FROM THE 

PHILA. PUBLIC LEDGER. 


“Soule’s Synonymes has been before 
the public for tw^enty-one years, in which 
time it has become a standard work, ac- 
cepted in this country and England. It 
now reappears in a handsome new edition, 
revised and enlarged by George H. Howi- 
son, EE.D., who has not only discrimi- 
nated the various senses of leading words 
more exactly than was done in the original 
version, but has, in addition, extended the 
lists of synonymous words and phrases by 
about one-third. The work, therefore, be- 
comes more useful and indispensable than 
ever. Its arrangement is alphabetical, and 
each word has its various shades of mean- 
ing followed by their appropriate syno- 
nynies, thus rendering reference simple 
and rapid. The volume is well printed, 
and that it will meet wdth immediate 
favor admits of no doubt.” 



“Soule’s Dictionary of Synonymes or 
Parallel Expressions is a gift to be coveted 
by all who exercise a choice of phraseol- 
ogy, for, as Professor Seeley teaches, the 
exertion of clothing a thought in a com- 
pletely new set of words increases both 
the clearness of the conception and mas- 
tery over the language. ‘ It is the test of 
a solid thought that it will bear a change 
of clothing.’ The Dictionary occupies 
nearly five hundred pages, which may be 
consulted as a standard and practical 
guide to aptness of speech. Trained wri- 
ters are apt to fall into the custom of using 
a set of words continuously, without being 
aware of the habit of repetition. This 
class will derive more than common as- 
sistance from the trim columns of this 
discriminating ‘guide, philosopher, and 
friend.’ ” 


FROM THE NEW YORK INDEPENDENT. 

“The number of additions made by Professor Howison amounts to about one-third of the 
original work. Our computation, based on a partial count, indicates that the whole work con- 
tains some twenty-four thousand main words, more or less. This is practically the entire lan- 
guage. If the subordinate lists of synonymes are worked out with corresponding fulness, the 
work may be said to have substantially reached the limits of what w^as possible under its plan. 
No attempt whatever is made to distinguish shades of meaning. That is done better in the 
larger dictionaries and other treatises. We welcome the Dictionary to our table, and have found 
it helpful in our private use.” 


For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, by the Publishers, on receipt 
of price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 

715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. 


58 



The December Number 


OF 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE, 

— • {^EADV 20 • 

Will contain a Complete Novel 
entitled 

PEARCE AMERSON’S WILL 

BY 

RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON, 

Author of “ Dukesborough Tales,” “Widow Guthrie,” “Old 
Mark Langston,” etc. 


Also, in the Journalist Series, 

A Special Correspondent’s Story, 

By MOSES P. HANDY. 


ALSO, STORIES, ESSAYS, AND ROEMS. 


This Number will be profusely Illustrated. 


FOR LIST OF COMPLETE NOVELS CONTAINED IN FORMER NUMBERS, 


SEE NEXT RAGE. 


The COMPLETE NOVELS which 
have already appeared in 


No. 29'9. 
No. 298. 
No. 297. 
No. 296. 
No. 295. 
No. 294. 
No. 293. 
No. 292. 
No. 291. 
No. 290. 
No. 289. 
No. 288. 
No. 287. 
No. 286. 
No. 285. 
No. 284. 
No. 283. 
No. 282. 
No. 281. 
No. 280. 
No. 279. 
No. 278. 
No. 277. 
No. 276. 
No. 275. 
No. 274. 
No. 273. 
No. 272. 
No. 271. 
No. 270. 
No. 269. 
No. 268. 
No. 267. 
No. 266. 
No. 265. 
No. 264, 
No. 263. 
No. 262. 
No. 261. 
No. 260. 
No. 259. 
No. 258. 
No. 257. 
No. 256. 
No. 255. 
No. 254. 
No. 253. 
No. 252. 
No. 251. 
No. 250. 
No. 249. 
No. 248. 
No. 247. 
No. 246. 
No. 245. 
No. 244. 
No. 243. 
No. 242. 
No. 241. 
No. 240. 
No. 239. 
No. 238. 
No. 237. 
No. 236. 
No. 235. 
No. 234. 
No. 233. 
No. 232. 
No. 231. 
No. 230. 
No. 229. 
No. 228. 
No. 227. 


LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE. 

KIN” By Marion Harland. 


and which are always obtain- 
able, are : 


“MORE THAN 

“THE KISS OF GOLD” By Kate Jordan. 

“THE DOOMSWOMAN” By Gertrude Atherton. 

“THE MARTLET SEAL” By Jeannette H. Walworth. 

“ WHITE HERON” By M. G. McClelland. 

“JOHN GRAY” (A Kentucky Tale of the Olden Time).. ..By James Lane Allen. 

“THE GOLDEN FLEECE” By Julian Hawthorne. 

“BUT MEN MUST WORK” By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

“ A SOLDIER’S SECRET” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“ ROY THE ROYALIST” By William Westall. 

“ THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE” By Young E. Allison. 

“A FAIR BLOCKADE-BREAKER”..., By T. C. De Leon. 

“THE DUKE AND THE COMMONER” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

“LADY PATTY” By the Duchess. 

“ CARLOTTA’S INTENDED” By Ruth McEnery Stuart. 

“A DAUGHTER'S HEART” By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 

“A ROSE OF A HUNDRED LEAVES” By Amelia E. Barr. 

“ GOLD OF PLEASURE” By George Parsons Lathrop. 

“ VAMPIRES” By Julien Gordon. 

“MAIDENS CHOOSING” By Mrs Ellen Olney Kirk. 

“THE SOUND OF A VOICE” By Frederic S. Cozzens. 

“A WAVE OF LIFE” '. By Clyde Fitch. 

“THE LIGHT THAT FAILED” By Rudyard Kipling. 

“AN ARMY PORTIA” By Captain Charles King. 

“A LAGGARD IN LOVE” By Jeanie Gwynne Bettany. 

“A MARRIAGE AT SEA” By W. Clark Russell. 

“THE MARK OF THE BEAST” By Katharine Pearson Woods. 

“WHAT GOLD CANNOT BUY” By Mrs. Alexander. 

“THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY” By Oscar Wilde. 

“CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE” By Mary E. Stickney. 

“A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS” By Bret Harte. 

“A CAST FOR FORTUNE” By Christian Reid. 

“TWO SOLDIERS ” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“THE SIGN OF THE FOUR” By A. Conan Doyle. 

“MILLICENT AND ROSALIND” By Julian Hawthorne. 

“ALL HE KNEW”.... By John Habberton. 

“A BELATED REVENGE” By Dr. Robert Montgomery Bird. 

“ CREOLE AND PURITAN ” By T. C. De Leon. 

“ SOLARION ” By Edgar Fawcett. 

“AN INVENTION OF THE ENEMY” By W. H. Babcock. 

“TEN MINUTES TO TWELVE” By M. G. McClelland. 

“A DREAM OF CONQUEST” By General Lloyd Brice. 

“A CHAIN OF ERRORS” By Mrs. E. W. Latimer. 

-‘THE WITNESS OF THE SUN” By Amalie Rives. 

“ BELLA-DEMONIA” By Selina Dolaro. 

“A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS” By Edgar Saltus. 

“ HALE- WESTON ” By M. Elliot Seawell. 

“ DUNRAVEN RANCH ” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“ EARTHLINGS ” By Grace King. 

“QUEEN OF SPADES,” and Autobiography By E. P. Roe. 

“ HEROD AND MARIAMNE.” A tragedy By Amdie Rives. 

“ MAMMON ” By Maude Howe. 

“THE YELLOW SNAKE” By Wm. Henry Bishop. 

“BEAUTIFUL MRS. THORNDYKE” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

“THE OLD ADAM” By H. H. Boyesen. 

“THE QUICK OR THE DEAD?” By AmMie Rives. 

“HONORED IN THE BREACH” By Julia Magruder. 

“THE SPELL OF HOME.” After the German of E. Werner. By Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
“ CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK ”...By Brander Matthews and Geo. H. Jessop. 

“FROM THE RANKS” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“ THE TERRA-COTTA BUST ” By Virginia W. Johnson. 

“APPLE SEED AND BRIER THORN” By Louise Stockton. 

“THE RED MOUNTAIN MINES” By Lew Vanderpoole. 

“A LAND OF LOVE” By Sidney Luska. 

“ AT ANCHOR ”.. By Julia Magruder. 

“THE WHISTLING BUOY” By Chas. Barnard. 

“THE DESERTER” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

“DOUGLAS DUANE” By Edgar Fawcett. 

“ KENYON’S WIFE ” By Lucy C. Lillie. 

“A SELF-MADE MAN” By M. G. McClelland. 

“ SINFIRE” By Julian Hawthorne. 

“ MISS DEFARGE ” By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

“ BRUETON’S BAYOU ” By John Habberton, 

Single Numbers, 35 Cents. ^3.00 per Year. 

b 


November, 1892. 




B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S . 

MONTHLY BULLETIN 

OF NEW PUBLICATIONS . . 


List of New Publications, with brief notices of their contents, together with an 

announcement of works now in press to be issued shortly For sale by 

Booksellers generally, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, upon receipt of price. 


HOLIDAY AND GIFT BOOKS. 

Strickland’s Queens of England. 

New Edition. Printed from new plates. With portraits of the Queens and 
other illustrations. Lives of the Queens of England from the Norman 
Conquest. Compiled from Official Records and other Authentic Documents, 
private as well as public, Agnes Strickland. In eight volumes. 8vo. 
Cloth, gilt top, $16.00; half calf, $28.00; three-quarters calf, $32.00. 
Special Edition. Eight volumes in sixteen. Cloth, gilt top, $20.00; half 
calf, gilt top, $40.00 ; three-quarters calf, $48.00. 

A reprint of the author’s latest revised edition, containing illustrations that have 
never appeared in any other issue. 

Lord Chesterfield’s Letters. 

A New Edition of the Celebrated Letters of the Earl of Chesterfield to His 
Son. An exact reprint of Lord Mahon’s edition, now very rare, issued in 
five octavo volumes, printed from pica type on superior paper. Limited 
edition. Special cloth binding, gilt top, $12.50 per set ; half calf, $20.00; 
three-quarters calf, $22.50. 

De Luxe Library Edition of the Works of 

William H. Prescott. Complete in twelve volumes, containing all the steel 
plates on India paper and maps that have appeared in former editions, and 
about fifteen phototype illustrations to each volume, copied from photographs 
of cities, public edifices, and reproductions of paintings representing re- 
markable events narrated. Large 8vo. Large type, printed on fine paper, 
and handsomely bound in half morocco, gilt top, $5.00 per volume, net. 

HISTORY OF THE REIGN OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. Two volumes. 
Now ready. 

HISTORY OF THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO. Two volumes. Now ready. 
HISTORY OF THE CONQUEST OF PERU. Two volumes. Now ready. 

HISTORY OF THE REIGN OF PHILIP H. Three volumes. Now ready. 

17 



i8 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 


Tales from Ten Poets. 

Harrison S. Morris, author of “In the Yule Tog Glow,” etc., etc. 
Three volumes. 161110. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, $3.00; half calf and 
half morocco, $ 6 . 00 ; three-quarters calf, gilt top, $7.50. 

These three volumes contain the most famous narrative poems of ten great Victorian 
poets done into prose, which has preserved the charm of the poetry in so far as it was 
possible while giving the story pure and simple. The Poets represented are Tennyson, 
Swinburne, Robert Browning, Win. Morris, Rossetti, Mrs. Browning, Matthew Arnold, 
Robert Buchanan, Lord Lytton, and George Eliot. 

Tales from the Dramatists. 

By Charles Morris, author of ‘ ‘ Half Hours with the Best American 
Authors,” etc. Four volumes. 161110. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, $4.00; 
half polished calf or morocco, $8.00 ; three-quarters calf, gilt top, $10.00. 

A series of entertaining stories taken from the leading plays of the most noted 
Dramatic Authors, from Ben Jonson to the present day. This work is based on the 
general plan of Lamb’s “Tales from Shakespeare,” and deals with the most popular 
plays of the best known English playwrights. 

The Dragon of Wantley. 

His Rise, His Voracity, and His Downfall. A Romance. By Owen Wis- 
ter. Illustrations by John Stewardson. 8vo. Extra cloth, gilt top, $2.00. 

Every one knows of the old ballad from which Mr. Wister has borrowed his title ; the 
characters and the plot, however, are entirely his own. The story deals with the old days 
of chivalry in England, and knights, monks, dragons, and crusades afford abundant 
material for a romantic tale. The illustrations are unique and full of humor and in 
complete harmony with the text, carrying out its ideas with vivid appropriateness. 

Atlina, the Queen of the Floating Isle. 

By M. B. M. Toland, author of “Eudora,” “Legend Laymone,” “Tisayac 
of the Yosemite,” etc. Illustrated by full-page photogravure reproductions 
of drawings by Bloomer, Weir, Church, Dielman, Jones, Jaccaci, Denman, 
Du Mond, and Twachtman, and numerous decorative designs throughout the 
text by A. F. Jaccaci. Cloth, gilt, $2.50 ; full silk, $3.50 ; morocco, $4.00. 

In Plato’s Atlantis, with its tropical splendor, its peace and prosperity, Mrs. Toland 
finds a theme well adapted to her own flowing and melodious verse. The artists have 
caught the spirit of the poem, and each in his own way interprets the life and scenery 
of that wondrous land of old. 

Recent Rambles, or In Touch with Nature. 

By Charles C. Abbott, M.D., author of “A Naturalist’s Rambles about 
Home,” “Outings at Odd Times,” etc. i2mo. Cloth. With nineteen 
half-tone illustrations. $2.00. 

In the literature of nature Dr. Abbott’s books hold a peculiar place. With all their 
close observation they are not too technical^ and their charm for the general reader is the 
more potent in that this is so. The book is full of touches of humor, unexpected turns, 
and pungent sayings. The illustrations are all from nature, and form an especial feature 
of this attractive volume. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 19 


Handy-Book of Literary Curiosities. 

By William S. Walsh, author of “Literary Life.” Small 8vo. Uniform 
with Reader’s Hand-Book. Half morocco, $3.50 ; three-quarters calf, $5,00. 

A collection of the bric-a-brac of literature, literary forgeries, hoaxes, jests, enigmas, 
conundrums, paradoxes, etc., exploited; proverbs, sayings, slang phrases, and familiar 
lines correlated and traced to their source ; plagiarisms, analogies, and coincidences 
detected ; the whole forming a complete encyclopaedia of all that is most amusing 
and entertaining in the ana of the past and present, and an indispensable reference- 
book of curious, quaint, and out-of-the-way information that has never before been 
collected in book form. 

Gleams and Echoes. 

By A. R. G., author of “ Night Etchings,” etc. Illustrated from drawings 
by Turner, Jones, Schell, Clinedinst, Dielman, and Lippincott, engraved by 
Anderson, Reed, and Williams. Cloth, gilt top, $2.00 ; full silk, $3.00. 

Every fern and flower has its story to tell to the true poet, a story full of interest and 
beauty. Our author takes us into field and wood that we may listen to these voices of 
nature, which are skilfully interpreted to us. Each poem is accompanied by an illus- 
tration, and the volume is a very handsome one, adapted to gift purposes. 

BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 

An Affair of Honour. 

With numerous Illustrations. Small qto. Cloth, gilt, $1.25. 

“ In old days there w'ere angels who came and took men by the hand and led them 
away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now, but yet men 
are led away from threatening destruction ; a hand is put in theirs, which leads them 
forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so they look no more backward ; and the 
hand may be a little child’s .” — George Eliot. 

Maid Marian and Robin Hood. 

By J. E. Muddock. With twelve illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. i2mo. 
Cloth extra, $1.25. 

It is a skilful variation on the old theme, and one which wall please the lovers of 
rustic romance. The threads of tradition and balladry are skilfully combined with 
those of invention, and the result is a pleasantly readable version of the adventures of 
the bold and merry outlaw and his merry follow’ers. The introduction of Maid Marian 
as a chief character gives a fresh flavor to the whole.” — Bosto7i Courier. 

Boys’ Own Book of Out-Door Games and 

Recreations. Edited by G. A. Hutchison. Over three hundred illus- 
trations. Small qto. Cloth, $1.75. 

This is the most comprehensive, thorough-going, and attractively-written book of 
the kind published. When we say that Dr. W. G. Grace contributes the chapter on 
“Cricket, and How to excel in It;” that swdmming is dealt with by the late Captain 
Webb ; and that boating and canoeing, cycling, hare and hounds, skating and scuttling, 
bowls, racquets, la-crosse, golf, and a score of other out-door pastimes, are dealt with by 
masters of their various subjects, we have said enough to justify this statement. The 
volume contains over three hundred illustrations. 


20 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 


Bimbi. 

Stories for Children. I^ouisa de la Raine (“ Oiiida”). With illustrations 
by Edmund H. Garrett. 4to. Cloth, $1.50. 

“The uine stories for children, which ‘ Ouida’ has written for the little Prince of 
Naples, and published under the title of ‘Bimbi,’ are the most fascinating tales imagi- 
nable, — pure in thought and purpose, charming in style, with surprising touches of wit, 
humor, and pathos .’’ — Boston Traveller. 

Axel Ebersen: 

The Graduate of Upsaua. By A. Laurie, author of “ Maurice Kerdic,’' 
“A Marvellous Conquest,” etc. Profusely illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The author of this instructive and entertaining work has long been favorably known 
as an excellent waiter of stories for boys, and in the history of “ Axel Ebersen” has well 
sustained this reputation. The lesson taught by the story is an impressive one, and boys 
will find the book very pleasant reading. 

Treasury of Pleasure-Books. 

Containing the popular stories of ” Puss in Boots,” ‘‘The House that Jack 
Built,” ‘‘Cock Robin,” ‘‘Old Mother Hubbard,” ‘‘The Old Woman and 
Her Pigs,” “Goody Two Shoes,” “Peter Piper,” and “An Apple Pie.” 
4to. Very fully illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

Treasury of Old-Fashioned Fairy-Tales. 

Containing “Cinderella,” “Dame Trot,” “Whittington and His Cat,” 
“Jack the Giant-Killer,” “Little Red Riding-Hood,” “Alla Baba,” “Blue- 
beard,” “Aladdin,” “ Fairy-Tale Alphabet.” 4to. Very fully illustrated. 
Cloth, $1.50. 

Uncle Bill’s Children. 

B}^ Helen Milman, author of “Little Ladies.” With illustrations by the 
author. Small 4to. Cloth, extra, $1.00. 

On more than one occasion Uncle Bill wished himself well rid of the precocious 
young ones he promised to take care of on their forced sojourn to the sea. They were 
not bad children by any means, but the embarrassing positions in wdiich they occasion- 
ally placed their foster-father and the worrinient they needlessly caused him were cer- 
tainly enough to try his patience. However, he came through the ordeal bravely and 
learned to love his little niece and nephew very dearly. The tale is prettily told, is true 
in its pathos, genial in its humor, and is admirable reading for young children. 

The Triumphs of Steam. 

A New Edition, revised and partly rewritten. By Henry Frith, author of 
“Triumphs of Modern Engineering.” With many illirstrations by John 
Gilbert and other artists. One volume. 161110. Cloth, $1.25. 

This volume contains the early history and progress of steam, its application to 
manufactures and navigation ; also sketches of the lives of Watt, Stephenson, and 
others, the story of whose inventions is so full of interest. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 21' 

MISCELLANEOUS . 

Itinerary of General Washington 

From June 15, 1775, to December 23, 1783. With Portrait. By Wil- 
liam S. Baker, author of “The Engraved Portraits of Washington,” etc. 
Special cloth, gilt top, rough edges, $2.50. 

Mr. Baker’s contributions to Wasliingtoniana are well known. In the compilation 
of the present work he exhibits every evidence of extensive research, judgment in selec- 
tion and entire reliability. His sources of information are the letters of Washington, 
published and unpublished, “ Orderly” books, and contemporaneous diaries and news- 
papers. The material brought together, covering the period from Washington’s appoint- 
ment as Commander-in-Chief of the Continental forces, June 15th, 1775, to the surrender 
of his commission, December 23, 1783, is of the most interesting character. 

Practice in Parsing 

AND Analysis. By Helen Arnold, A.B. i2mo. Cloth, 40 cents. 

These exercises presuppose a very elementary though practical knowledge of the 
parts of speech. For the sake of clearness and simplicity the instruction preceding 
each exercise has been put in very brief outline, leaving to be made orally any further 
explanation that may be needed. All difficulties of idiom and irregularities of construc- 
tion have been most carefully excluded, and much of the material has been already 
thoroughly tested in the class-room. The one aim has been to provide for beginners a 
direct, simple, and abundant application of the definitions of the parts of speech. 

Souvenirs of Occasions. 

By Sara Eouisa Oberholtzer, author of “Come for Arbutus,” “Hope’s 
Heart Bells,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

Several years ago appeared a little book of verse by Mrs. Oberholtzer, entitled 
“Come for Arbutus,” of which John G. Whittier said, “It contains many nice bits of 
poetry, which I have read w'ith much pleasure.” The same commendation might also 
apply to this new volume of poems. So sweet is their tone and so clear the writer’s 
thought and expression, they cannot fail to appeal to a large circle of thoughtful readers. 

The Human, and Its Relations to the Divine. 

By Theodore F. Wright, Ph.D. 121110. Cloth, extra. $1.00. 

The author has here endeavored to solve, by means within the reach of all, the 
problems which present themselves to him who seeks to know man and his relation to 
God, hoping thus to be of some use in resisting the tendency of studious minds to cast 
off faith, and in leading them to build on firm foundations houses which shall be both 
sanctuaries and fortresses. The word of God is frequently referred to, but undogmatically, 
and many writers are cited. — Preface. 

Where Art Begins. 

By Hume Nisbet, author of “ Eessoiis in Art,” etc. With twenty-seven 
illustrations. Large i2mo. Cloth, $2.50. 

This^ is certainly a most entertaining and instructive volume. It is the work of an 
accomplished painter and the outcome of long years of study and practice. Mr. Nisbet 
possesses such an enviable faculty of clear and attractive exposition that the volume is 
sure to make its own welcome. 


22 /. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY’S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 


Night Etchings. 

A. R. G. i2nio. Printed on hand-made paper. Cloth, extra, gilt top, 

$i-25- 

A handful of poems that will win the interested attention of those w’ho care for poetry 
which thinks and thought which is poetical. Among the more pensive verses “The 
Old Place’’ is pathetic and tender, “Selection’’ is a very graceful allegory full of quiet 
emotion, and “To Catharine Van Nest’’ is a lyric which carries with its warm friendship 
the willing heart of the reader. It is simple, direct, musical. 

Columbian Selections. 

American Patriotism. For Home and School. By Henry B. Carrington, 
U.S.A., EE.D., author of “ Patriotic Reader,” etc. With tributes to 
Columbus by Joel Barlow, Washington Irving, Francis Bellamy, and 
others. 121110. Cloth, 75 cents. 

A collection of standard selections from the literature and oratory of all ages, with 
an introductory symposium, including tributes to Columbus from Washington Irving, 
Joel Barlow, Robert C. Winthrop, and others. The selections are suited to the home, 
the general reader, and for schools, and include programmes for the celebration of 
Columbus Day, Washington’s Birthday, Decoration Day, Independence Day, etc. 

My Flirtations. 

By Margaret Wynnian. Illustrated by J. Bernard Partridge. 

One of the most fetching books of the year is this frank and amusing recital of the 
successive loves of a young London girl. Her suitors are many and various, and Mr. 
Partridge has hit them off as characteristically in his sketches as Miss Wynman has in 
her clever and satirical prose. 

By Subtle Fragrance Held. 

By Mary Fletcher Stevens. 121110. Cloth, $1.00. 

In the life of Frances Russell, the heroine of this interesting story, the author has 
cleverly brought out the varying effects of an alternation of the fashionable and of the 
quiet life upon the developing character of a young society girl. Gay, pleasing, pretty, 
and accomplished, and, above all, indifferent, her social success was assured upon her 
entrance into society. On the other hand, the strong and free existence in a Massachu- 
setts country-seat had its influence, and in after months the “subtle fragrance’’ of a 
flower brought back a remembrance strong enough to save her from being false to herself. 

A Shadow’s Shadow. 

By Ivulali Ragsdale. 121110. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

A brilliant novel in which the contest for the mastery of a girl’s heart betw^een love 
and ambition (called, in “Hamlet,’’ “A Shadow’s Shadow’’) is a long and passionate 
one. The book is manufactured in attractive style, with large type and specially- 
designed cover. 

Gold of Pleasure. 

By George Parsons Latlirop. Issued in American Novel Series. 121110. 
Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 

“The story reveals the secrets of a lighthouse-keeper’s daughter, and brings her into 
prominence as being unwittingly the sweetheart of the two men who play the most im- 
portant part in this little drama. The purpose of the narrative is to unfold the simple 
and attractive details of Uer life, to reveal the nobleness and sweetness of her character, 
and to finally bring her under the wise guidance of the lover and friend who waited 
patiently until she could share his love and home .’’ — Boston Herald, 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 23 

A Sister’s Sin. 

By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron, author of “Jack’s Secret,” “A Daughter’s 
Heart,” etc. Published by arrangement with the author, and copyrighted 
in Lippincott’s Series of Select Novels. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents; 
cloth, ^i.oo. 

‘‘A wide circle of admirers always welcome a new w’ork by this favorite author. 
Her style is pure and interesting, and she depicts marvellously well the daily social life 
of the English people.” — St. Louis Republic. 

Amor in Society. 

A Study from Life. By Julia Duhring, author of “Philosophers and 
Fools” and “Gentlefolks and Others.” Large i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Frankness of expression, combined with clear insight into the psychical and physical 
results of the passion of love, are the chief characteristics of this entertaining volume. 
“Read two or three pages anywhere,— beginning, middle, end,” says the author, “that 
done, you will know whether to go on or stop.” We apprehend, however, that, having 
once commenced, the reader will be loath to lay aside the work until finished. It is both 

a study of society life and of the subtle passions of the human heart. 

» 

The International Magazine Pocket Visiting 

List. Thirty and Sixty Patients each week. 1893. Arranged for the use 
of Practitioners. By J. C. Wilson, M.D. Pocket-Book form. Thirty 
Patients, $1.25 ; Sixty Patients, $1.50. 

Mother and Child. 

Part I., Mother. By Edward P. Davis, A.M., M.D. Part II., Child. By 
John M. Keating, M.D., LL.D. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 

“The aim of this instructive and readable manual has been to supplement his advice 
and render intelligible those matters that mothers and nurses find difficult to understand. 
As the result of large experience, the views of the authors are necessarily tiefinite and 
positive ; but the experience of others causes them to differ in many points of detail and 
management, and, in order to make the book cover as large a field as possible, they 
have added much material from the w^ritings of other physicians whose opinions have 
great weight and whose advice is of incalculable value.” — Preface. 

Diseases of the Kidneys and Bladder. 

A Text-Book for Students of Medicine. By W. F. McNutt, M.D., M.R.C.S. 
Ed., L.R.C.P. Ed., Professor of the Principles and Practice of Medicine, 
University of California, etg. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.50'. 

The medical student alone will value at its full worth this exhaustive text-book on 
a topic scarcely ever before treated with such thoroughness. There have been innu- 
merable writers on special diseases of the kidneys, and the subject necessarily forms a 
part of all comprehensive w’orks on pathology. But a single work devoted to this 
subject in all its varying phases and prepared by an eminent specialist is a convenience 
which every owner of a medical library wdll consider essential to his collection, no 
matter how full his shelves may be of the less complete material. 


24 J. B. LIPPINCOrr COMPANY'S MONTHLY BULLETIN. 

BOOKS IN PRESS. 


A Soldier’s Secret. 

A Story of the Sioux War of 1890, and An Army Portia. Two 
Novels. Captain Charles King, U.S.A., author of “The Colonel’s 

Daughter,” etc. ^ . 

Persian Tales. 

Edited by Justin H. McCarthy. With photogravure frontispiece to each 
volume. By Stanley L. Wood. 2 vols. 

A Family Likeness. 

A new story by Mrs. B. M. Croker, author of “Two Masters,” “Inter- 
ference,” etc. Published by arrangement with the author, and copyrighted 
in the United States. 

Barbara Dering. 

A Sequel to “The Quick or the Dead?” By Amelie Rives. Ready 
early in November. 

Hermetic Philosophy. 

Can Virtue and Science be taught? A comedy founded on Plato’s 
“ Meno,” applied to modern discoveries in Theosophy, Christian Science, 
Magic, etc., and to those who are making these discoveries. By Styx. 
Vol. III. 

I Married a Soldier; 

or. Old Days in the Old Army. B}^ Lydia Spencer Lane. Ready early 
in November. 

Broken Chords 

Crossed by the Echo of a False Note. A Novel. By Mrs. George 
McClellan, author of “Cupid and the Sphinx,” etc. Ready early in 
November;. 

The History and Theory of Money. 

By Sidne}" Sherwood, Ph.D., Wharton School of Finance and Economy, 
University of Pennsylvania. 8vo. 

Practical Pathology. 

A Manual for Students and Practitioners. By G. Sims Woodhead, M.D., 
F.R.C.P. Ed., Fellow of the Royal Society, Edinburgh, etc. With one 
hundred and ninety-five colored illustrations. Third Edition. Greatly en- 
larged and revised. 8vo. Cloth. 

Clinical Diagnosis: 

The Chemical, MicrOvSCopical, and Bacteriological Evidence of 
Disease. By Prof, von Jaksch, of Prague. Translated from the Third 
German Edition by Jas. Cagney, M.A., M.D., of St. Mary’s Hospital. 
With additional illustrations, many in colors. Second Edition. 


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BROADWAY, 

18th and 19th Sts. NEW YOEK 


JOSBPH GILLOTT^S STSEL PSlffS. 


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Bakincp 
Powder 


A cream of tartar baking powder. 
Highest of all in leavening strength. 
— Latest United States Government 
Food Report, 


Royal Baking Powder Co., 

io6 Wall St., N. Y. 


^ ^G^eatest 

^ IBOIUN®// ' OK 'TUB AG© 

eVeryfamily 

SHOULD HAVE IT 


NerED A|(D pilTlJpy SIctScaS! 


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STEPHE^KWhlTO^l ^SOK 

IWVeMTORS AJ^D sole JMAf/U fVs 

^0 PHILADELPHIA.PA. «• 



EUGEN D’ ALBERT; From fullest conviction I 
declare them to be the best Jastruments of America. 

DR. HANS VON BuLOW : I declare them the 
absolutely best in America. 

ALFRED GRijNFELD; I consider them the best 
Instruments of our times. 

P. TSCHAIKOVSKY : Combines with great Vol- 
ume of Tone a rare sympathetic and noble Tone 
Color and perfect action. 


MOST PERFECT OF PENS. 

Vi 


BALTIMORE : 22 and 24 E. Baltimore St. 

NEW YORK: 148 Fifth Ave. 

WASHINGTON: 817 Pennsylvania Ave. 


GOLD M EDAL, PAR IS, 1878. 

1 .BAKER& Co.’S 

Breakfast 
Gocoa 



from which the excess of 
oil has been removed, 


l8 Absolutely iPure 
and it is Soluble^ 


No Ghemicals 


are used in its prep- 
aration. It has 7no?’e 
tlurn three times the 
strength of Cocoa 
mixed witli Starch, 
Arrowroot or Sugar, 
and is therefore far 
more economical, costing less than one cent a 
cnp. It is delicious, nourishing, strength- 


ening, EASILY DIGESTED, and admirably 


adapted for invalids as well as for persons 
in health. 


SOLD BY GROCERS EVERYWHERE. 


W. BAKER & CO., DORCHESTER, MASS. 

WOODBURY’S FACIAL SOAP, 


FOR THE 


SCALP, SKIN # COMPLEXION 


The result of twenty years’ experience in 
skii 


treating skin diseases. 

At Drusrsrlsts or fiy Mail, 



A sample cake of soap and 145-page Book on 
Dermatology and Beauty (Illustrated); on Skin, 
Scalp, Nervous, and Blood Diseases and their treat- 
ment, sent sealed on receipt of 10 cents ; also Dis- 
figurements, like Birth-Marks, ]\Ioles, Warts, India- 
Ink and Powder Marks, Scars, Pittings, Redness of 
No.se, Superfluous Hair, Pimples, Facial Develop- 
ment, etc. 

JoiiD H. Woodhry, Dermatological Institute, 

12S West 42d St.. New York Oity. 


Consultation free, at office or by letter. Mention this Magdzine. 


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For Fine. 


For Fxtni F'ine No, 303, 

and General IVritinff, Nos. ‘J104 and 004. For 
Artists’ Use, Nos. 050 {Croiv Quill) and 


Henry Hoe, sole agent. 


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